1.IBRARY 

OF  THE 

U N I VERS  ITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 

PRESENTED  E>Y 
Mrs.  A.  H.  Daniels 
1940 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS  LIBRARY  AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 

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A 

JOL  231 

W ’ 

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* ***•  — 

2 1 

) 1990 

wr  i o 

m 

L161— 01096 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
Cfre  Cambrige 

1898 


Copyright,  1874,  1878,  and  1886, 

By  L.  L.  THAXTER,  HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  & CO. 
and  CELIA  THAXTER. 

Copyright,  1896, 

By  ROLAND  THAXTER. 

All  rights  reserved . 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge , Mass. , U.  S.  A. 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  & Co. 


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In  this  new  edition  of  the  collected  writings  of  Celia 
Thaxter,  great  care  has  been  taken  to  keep  to  her  own 
arrangement  and  to  the  order  in  which  the  poems  were 
originally  published.  In  this  way  they  seem  to  make 
something  like  a journal  of  her  daily  life  and  thought, 
and  to  mark  the  constantly  increasing  power  of  obser- 
vation which  was  so  marked  a trait  in  her  character. 
As  her  eyes  grew  quicker  to  see  the  blooming  of  flow- 
ers and  the  flight  of  birds,  the  turn  of  the  waves  as 
they  broke  on  the  rocks  of  Appledore,  so  the  eyes 
of  her  spirit  read  more  and  more  clearly  the  inward 
significance  of  things,  the  mysterious  sorrows  and  joys 
of  human  life.  In  the  earliest  of  her  poems  there  is 
much  to  be  found  of  that  strange  insight  and  antici- 
pation of  experience  which  comes  with  such  gifts  of 
ifature  and  gifts  for  writing  as  hers,  but  as  life  went 
on  it  seemed  as  if  Sorrow  were  visible  to  her  eyes, 
a shrouded  figure  walking  in  the  daylight.  Here  I 
and  Sorrow  sit  was  often  true  to  the  sad  vision  of  her 
imagination,  yet  she  oftenest  came  hand  in  hand  with 
some  invisible  dancing  Joy  to  a friend’s  door. 

Through  the  long  list  of  these  brief  poems  (begin- 
ning in  the  earliest  book  with  Land-locked  and  follow- 


! 09 1 2 1 7 


VI 


PKEFACE 


ing  through  the  volumes  called  Driftweed  and  The 
Cruise  of  the  Mystery  ; all  reprinted  here  with  some 
later  verses  found  together  among  her  papers),  one 
walks  side  by  side  in  intimate  companionship  with  this 
sometimes  sad-hearted  but  sincerely  glad  and  happy 
woman  and  poet,  and  knows  the  springs  of  her  life  and 
the  power  of  her  great  love  and  hope.  In  another 
volume  all  her  delightful  verses  and  stories  for  children 
have  been  gathered;  but  one  poem,  The  Sandpiper , 
seemed  to  belong  to  one  book  as  much  as  to  the  other, 
and  this  has  been  reprinted  in  both. 

In  the  volume  of  her  Letters  will  be  found  the 
records  of  Celia  Thaxter’s  life  and  so  far  as  it  could  be 
told  the  history  of  her  literary  work,  while  some  per- 
sonal notes  by  the  hand  of  one  of  her  dearest  and  old- 
est friends  leave  little  to  be  said  here.  Yet  those  who 
have  known  through  her  writings  alone  the  islands  she 
loved  so  much,  may  care  to  know  how,  just  before  she 
died,  she  paid,  as  if  with  dim  foreboding,  a last  visit 
to  the  old  familiar  places  of  the  tiny  world  that  was 
so  dear  to  her.  Day  after  day  she  called  those  who 
were  with  her  to  walk  or  sail;  once  to  spend  a long 
afternoon  among  the  high  cliffs  of  Star  Island  where 
we  sat  in  the  shade  behind  the  old  church,  and  she 
spoke  of  the  year  that  she  spent  in  the  Gosport  par- 
sonage, and  went  there  with  us,  to  find  old  memories 
waiting  to  surprise  her  in  the  worn  doorways,  and 
ghosts  and  fancies  of  her  youth  tenanting  all  the  an- 


PREFACE 


Vll 


cient  rooms.  Once  we  went  to  the  lighthouse  on 
White  Island,  where  she  walked  lightly  over  the 
rough  rocks  with  wonted  feet,  and  showed  us  many 
a trace  of  her  childhood,  and  sang  some  quaint  old 
songs,  as  we  sat  on  the  cliff  looking  seaward,  with 
a touching  lovely  cadence  in  her  voice,  an  unfor- 
gotten cadence  to  any  one  who  ever  heard  her  sing. 
We  sat  by  the  Spaniards’  graves  through  a long 
summer  twilight,  and  she  repeated  her  poem  as  if  its 
familiar  words  were  new,  and  we  talked  of  many 
things  as  we  watched  the  sea.  And  on  Appledore  she 
showed  us  all  the  childish  playgrounds  dearest  to  her 
and  to  her  brothers,  — the  cupboard  in  a crevice  of 
rock,  the  old  wells  and  cellars,  the  tiny  stone- walled 
enclosures,  the  worn  doorsteps  of  unremembered  houses. 
We  crept  under  the  Sheep  rock  for  shelter  out  of  a 
sudden  gust  of  rain,  we  found  some  of  the  rarer  wild 
flowers  in  their  secret  places.  In  one  of  these  it 
thrills  me  now  to  remember  that  she  saw  a new  white 
flower,  strange  to  her  and  to  the  island,  which  seemed 
to  reach  up  to  her  hand.  “This  never  bloomed  on 
Appledore  before,”  she  said,  and  looked  at  it  with 
grave  wonder.  “It  has  not  quite  bloomed  yet,”  she 
said,  standing  before  the  flower;  “ I shall  come  here 
again;  ” and  then  we  went  our  unreturning  way  up  the 
footpath  that  led  over  the  ledges,  and  left  the  new 
flower  growing  in  its  deep  windless  hollow  on  the  soft 
green  turf. 


Vlll 


PREFACE 


It  was  midsummer,  and  the  bayberry  bushes  were 
all  a bright  and  shining  green,  and  we  watched  a 
sandpiper,  and  heard  the  plaintive  cry  that  begged  us 
not  to  find  and  trouble  its  nest.  Under  the  very  rocks 
and  gray  ledges,  to  the  far  nests  of  the  wild  sea  birds, 
her  love  and  knowledge  seemed  to  go.  She  was  made 
of  that  very  dust,  and  set  about  with  that  sea,  islanded 
indeed  in  the  reserves  of  her  lonely  nature  with  its 
storms  and  calmness  of  high  tides,  but  it  seemed  as  if 
a little  star  dust  must  have  been  mixed  with  the  ordi- 
nary dust  of  those  coasts;  there  was  something  bright 
in  her  spirit  that  will  forever  shine,  and  light  the 
hearts  of  those  who  loved  her.  It  will  pass  on  to  a 
later  time  in  these  poems  that  she  wrote  of  music,  of 
spring  and  winter,  of  flowers  and  birds,  and  of  that 
northern  sea  which  was  her  friend  and  fellow. 

S.  0.  J. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Land-locked  1 

Off  Shore 2 

Expectation .4 

The  Wreck  of  the  Pocahontas 6 

A Thanksgiving  * 11 

The  Minute-guns 12 

Seaward 14 

Rock  Weeds 15 

The  Sandpiper 18 

Twilight 19 

The  Swallow 20 

A Grateful  Heart 22 

The  Spaniards’  Graves 24 

Watching 25 

In  May 27 

A Summer  Day * 29 

Regret 32 

Before  Sunrise  34 

By  the  Roadside 37 

Sorrow 39 

November 41 

Courage 41 

Remembrance 43 

Song  : “ We  sail  toward  Evening’s  lonely  Star  ” . 44 

A Tryst 45 

Imprisoned 48 

Presage 50 


X 


CONTENTS 


Midsummer  Midnight 51 

April  Days 53 

Heartbreak  Hill 54 

The  Song-Sparrow 57 

In  Kittery  Churchyard 59 

At  the  Breakers’  Edge  61 

“For  Thoughts” 63 

Wherefore 64 

Guendolen 66 

The  Watch  of  Boon  Island 67 

Beethoven  ...» 70 

Mozart 72 

Schubert 73 

Chopin 74 

The  Pimpernel 75 

By  the  Dead 78 

Footprints  in  the  Sand 80 

A Broken  Lily 83 

May  Morning 84 

All ’s  Well 86 

The  Secret 90 

Seaside  Goldenrod 92 

March 93 

Song  i 95 

The  White  Rover 95 

Contrast 99 

A Faded  Glove 100 

Portent 103 

Song  : “ Sing,  little  Bird,  oh  sing  ” ....  105 

Renunciation 106 

Song:  “Oh  the  Fragrance  of  the  Air”  . . . 107 

Two  Sonnets 108 

Daybreak 109 

Song  : “ 0 Love,  Love,  Love  1 ” Ill 

The  Nestling  Swallows 112 

Vesper  Song 114 


i By  Oscar  Laighton. 


CONTENTS 


xi 

Flowers  in  October 114 

Wait 116 

Karen 117 

A Mussel  Shell 119 

Trust 120 

Modjeska 122 

Song  : “ 0 Swallow,  sailing  lightly  ” . ...  123 

Lars 124 

Song:  “A  Rushing  of  Wings  in  the  Dawn”  . . 127 

Thora 128 

The  Happy  Birds 130 

Slumber  Song 132 

Starlight 132 

Song  : “ Hark,  how  sweet  the  Thrushes  sing  ! ” . . 135 

Remonstrance 135 

Morning  Song . . 138 

Beethoven 139 

Song  : “What  good  Gift  can  I bring  Thee,  0 thou 

Dearest” 139 

With  the  Tide 140 

**  The  Sunrise  never  failed  us  yet  ” 142 

Enthralled 143 

Song  : “ Rolls  the  long  Breaker  in  Splendor,  and 

glances” 145 

Transition 146 

Leviathan 148 

To  a Violin 149 

Philosophy 150 

Medrick  and  Osprey 152 

Alone 153 

Reverie 154 

Heart’s-Ease 156 

Autumn 158 

Song  : " Love,  art  Thou  weary  with  the  sultry  Day?  ” 159 

Submission 160 

Song  : “I  wore  your  Roses,  Yesterday”  ....  162 

Spring  again 162 

Sonnet  : “ As  happy  Dwellers  by  the  Seaside  hear  ” 165 


CONTENTS 


xii 

Song  : “ Above  in  her  Chamber  her  Voice  I hear  ” . 165 

Foreboding 166 

Homage 167 

Discontent 168 

Already 170 

Guests 171 

Mutation 173 

Farewell 174 

Doubt 175 

Sunset  Song  176 

“ Love  shall  save  us  all  ” 177 

The  Cruise  of  the  Mystery 177 

Schumann’s  Sonata  in  A Minor 184 

Because  of  Thee 185 

Flowers  for  the  Brave 186 

Expostulation 187 

Persistence 188 

S.  E ’ .190 

Poor  Lisette 190 

To  J.  G.  W 192 

In  Tuscany 193 

Good-By,  Sweet  Day 195 

In  Autumn 196 

West- Wind 197 

Impatience 199 

In  the  Lane 200 

Her  Mirror 202 

For  Christmas 203 

At  Set  of  Moon 204 

My  Garden 205 

Lost  and  Saved 208 

A Rose  of  Joy 209 

In  September 210 

Under  the  Eaves 212 

November  Morning 214 

In  Death’s  Despite 217 

A Song  of  Hope 218 

Our  Soldiers 219 


CONTENTS 


Xlll 


Two  ! 220 

Compensation 222 

Sonnet  : “ Back  from  Life’s  Coasts  the  ebbing  Tide 

had  drawn” 224 

Joy 224 

Beloved  . 225 

The  Answer 226 

Song  : “ Past  the  Point  and  by  the  Beach  ” . . 227 

August 228 

Song  : “A  Bird  upon  a rosy  Bough”  ....  229 

“ Oh  tell  me  not  of  heavenly  Halls  ” . . . . 230 

Midsummer 231 

New  Year  Song 232 

Captured 232 

Faith 234 

At  Dawn 235 

In  a Horse-Car 236 

A Valentine 238 

Within  and  Without 239 

Betrothed 240 

Questions  . 242 

Tyre  and  Sidon  J 244 

Hjelma 245 

My  Hollyhock 247 

Benediction 250 

Sonnet  : “If  I do  speak  your  Praise,  forgive  me, 

Sweet  ! ” 250 

On  the  Train 251 

Peace 253 

As  Linnets  Sing 254 

Ruth 255 

Petition 257 

Appeal 258 


POEMS 


LAND-LOCKED 

Black  lie  the  hills;  swiftly  doth  daylight  flee; 
And,  catching  gleams  of  sunset’s  dying  smile, 
Through  the  dusk  land  for  many  a changing  mile 
The  river  runneth  softly  to  the  sea. 

O happy  river,  could  I follow  thee ! 

O yearning  heart,  that  never  can  be  still  t 
O wistful  eyes,  that  watch  the  steadfast  hill, 
Longing  for  level  line  of  solemn  sea! 

Have  patience;  here  are  flowers  and  songs  of  birds, 
Beauty  and  fragrance,  wealth  of  sound  and  sight, 
All  summer’s  glory  thine  from  morn  till  night, 
And  life  too  full  of  joy  for  uttered  words. 

Neither  am  I ungrateful;  but  I dream 
Deliciously  how  twilight  falls  to-night 
Over  the  glimmering  water,  how  the  light 
Dies  blissfully  away,  until  I seem 


2 


OFF  SHORE 


To  feel  the  wind,  sea-scented,  on  my  cheek, 

To  catch  the  sound  of  dusky  flapping  sail 
And  dip  of  oars,  and  voices  on  the  gale 
Afar  off,  calling  low,  — my  name  they  speak ! 

0 Earth!  thy  summer  song  of  joy  may  soar 
Einging  to  heaven  in  triumph.  I but  crave 
The  sad,  caressing  murmur  of  the  wave 
That  breaks  in  tender  music  on  the  shore. 


OFF  SHOEE 

Eock,  little  boat,  beneath  the  quiet  sky; 

Only  the  stars  behold  us  where  we  lie,  — 

Only  the  stars  and  yonder  brightening  moon. 

On  the  wide  sea  to-night  alone  are  we; 

The  sweet,  bright  summer  day  dies  silently, 

Its  glowing  sunset  will  have  faded  soon. 

Eock  softly,  little  boat,  the  while  I mark 
The  far  off  gliding  sails,  distinct  and  dark, 

Across  the  west  pass  steadily  and  slow. 

But  on  the  eastern  waters  sad,  they  change 

And  vanish,  dream-like,  gray,  and  cold,  and  strange, 

And  no  one  knoweth  whither  they  may  go. 


OFF  SHORE 


3 


We  care  not,  we,  drifting  with  wind  and  tide, 
While  glad  waves  darken  upon  either  side, 

Save  where  the  moon  sends  silver  sparkles  down, 

And  yonder  slender  stream  of  changing  light, 

Now  white,  now  crimson,  tremulously  bright, 
Where  dark  the  lighthouse  stands,  with  fiery  crown. 

Thick  falls  the  dew,  soundless  on  sea  and  shore : 

It  shines  on  little  boat  and  idle  oar, 

Wherever  moonbeams  touch  with  tranquil  glow. 

The  waves  are  full  of  whispers  wild  and  sweet; 
They  call  to  me,  — incessantly  they  beat 
Along  the  boat  from  stern  to  curved  prow. 

Comes  the  careering  wind,  blows  back  my  hair, 

All  damp  with  dew,  to  kiss  me  unaware, 

Murmuring  “ Thee  I love,”  and  passes  on. 

Sweet  sounds  on  rocky  shores  the  distant  rote; 

Oh  could  we  float  forever,  little  boat, 

Under  the  blissful  sky  drifting  alone! 


4 


EXPECTATION 


EXPECTATION 

Throughout  the  lonely  house  the  whole  day  long 
The  wind-harp’s  fitful  music  sinks  and  swells,  — 

A cry  of  pain,  sometimes,  or  sad  and  strong, 

Or  faint,  like  broken  peals  of  silver  bells. 

Across  the  little  garden  comes  the  breeze, 

Bows  all  its  cups  of  flame,  and  brings  to  me 

Its  breath  of  mignonette  and  bright  sweet-peas, 

With  drowsy  murmurs  from  the  encircling  sea. 

In  at  the  open  door  a crimson  drift 

Of  fluttering,  fading  woodbine  leaves  is  blown, 

And  through  the  clambering  vine  the  sunbeams  sift, 
And  trembling  shadows  on  the  floor  are  thrown. 

I climb  the  stair,  and  from  the  window  lean 
Seeking  thy  sail,  O love,  that  still  delays; 

Longing  to  catch  its  glimmer,  searching  keen 
The  jealous  distance  veiled  in  tender  haze. 

What  care  I if  the  pansies  purple  be, 

Or  sweet  the  wind-harp  wails  through  the  slow 
hours ; 

Or  that  the  lulling  music  of  the  sea 

Comes  woven  with  the  perfume  of  the  flowers  ? 


EXPECTATION 


5 


Thou  comest  not!  I ponder  o’er  the  leaves, 

The  crimson  drift  behind  the  open  door: 

Soon  shall  we  listen  to  a wind  that  grieves, 
Mourning  this  glad  year,  dead  forevermore. 

And,  O my  love,  shall  we  on  some  sad  day 

Find  joys  and  hopes  low  fallen  like  the  leaves, 
Blown  by  life’s  chilly  autumn  wind  away 

In  withered  heaps  God’s  eye  alone  perceives  ? 

Come  thou,  and  save  me  from  my  dreary  thought! 

Who  dares  to  question  Time,  what  it  may  bring? 
Yet  round  us  lies  the  radiant  summer,  fraught 
With  beauty:  must  we  dream  of  suffering? 

Yea,  even  so.  Through  this  enchanted  land, 

This  morning-red  of  life,  we  go  to  meet 
The  tempest  in  the  desert,  hand  in  hand, 

Along  God’s  paths  of  pain,  that  seek  his  feet. 

But  this  one  golden  moment,  — hold  it  fast ! 

The  light  grows  long:  low  in  the  west  the  sun, 
Clear  red  and  glorious,  slowly  sinks  at  last, 

And  while  I.  muse,  the  tranquil  day  is  done. 

The  land  breeze  freshens  in  thy  gleaming  sail! 

Across  the  singing  waves  the  shadows  creep: 
Under  the  new  moon’s  thread  of  silver  pale, 

With  the  first  star,  thou  comest  o’er  the  deep. 


6 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  POCAHONTAS 


THE  WEECK  OF  THE  POCAHONTAS 

I lit  the  lamps  in  the  lighthouse  tower, 

For  the  sun  dropped  down  and  the  day  was  dead. 

They  shone  like  a glorious  clustered  flower,  — 

Ten  golden  and  five  red. 

Looking  across,  where  the  line  of  coast 

Stretched  darkly,  shrinking  away  from  the  sea, 

The  lights  sprang  out  at  its  edge,  — almost 
They  seemed  to  answer  me! 

O warning  lights ! burn  bright  and  clear, 

Hither  the  storm  comes ! Leagues  away 

It  moans  and  thunders  low  and  drear,  — 

Burn  till  the  break  of  day! 

Good-night ! I called  to  the  gulls  that  sailed 
Slow  past  me  through  the  evening  sky; 

And  my  comrades,  answering  shrilly,  hailed 
Me  back  with  boding  cry. 

A mournful  breeze  began  to  blow ; 

Weird  music  it  drew  through  the  iron  bars; 

The  sullen  billows  boiled  below, 

And  dimly  peered  the  stars; 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  POCAHONTAS 


7 


The  sails  that  flecked  the  ocean  floor 
From  east  to  west  leaned  low  and  fled; 

They  knew  what  came  in  the  distant  roar 
That  filled  the  air  with  dread ! 

Flung  by  a fitful  gust,  there  beat 
Against  the  window  a dash  of  rain: 

Steady  as  tramp  of  marching  feet 
Strode  on  the  hurricane. 

It  smote  the  waves  for  a moment  still, 

Level  and  deadly  white  for  fear; 

The  bare  rock  shuddered,  — an  awful  thrill 
Shook  even  my  tower  of  cheer. 

Like  all  the  demons  loosed  at  last, 

Whistling  and  shrieking,  wild  and  wide, 

The  mad  wind  raged,  while  strong  and  fast 
Rolled  in  the  rising  tide. 

And  soon  in  ponderous  showers,  the  spray, 
Struck  from  the  granite,  reared  and  sprung 

And  clutched  at  tower  and  cottage  gray, 
Where  overwhelmed  they  clung 

Half  drowning  to  the  naked  rock ; 

But  still  burned  on  the  faithful  light, 

Nor  faltered  at  the  tempest’s  shock, 

Through  all  the  fearful  night. 


8 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  POCAHONTAS 


Was  it  in  vain  ? That  knew  not  we. 

We  seemed,  in  that  confusion  vast 

Of  rushing  wind  and  roaring  sea, 

One  point  whereon  was  cast 

The  whole  Atlantic’s  weight  of  brine. 

Heaven  help  the  ship  should  drift  our  way ! 

No  matter  how  the  light  might  shine 
Far  on  into  the  day. 

When  morning  dawned,  above  the  din 
Of  gale  and  breaker  boomed  a gun! 

Another!  We  who  sat  within 
Answered  with  cries  each  one. 

Into  each  other’s  eyes  with  fear 

We  looked  through  helpless  tears,  as  still, 

One  after  one,  near  and  more  near, 

The  signals  pealed,  until 

The  thick  storm  seemed  to  break  apart 
To  show  us,  staggering  to  her  grave, 

The  fated  brig.  We  had  no  heart 
To  look,  for  naught  could  save. 

One  glimpse  of  black  hull  heaving  slow, 

Then  closed  the  mists  o’er  canvas  torn 

And  tangled  ropes  swept  to  and  fro 
From  masts  that  raked  forlorn. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  POCAHONTAS 


9 


Weeks  after,  yet  ringed  round  with  spray 
Our  island  lay,  and  none  might  land ; 
Though  blue  the  waters  of  the  hay 
Stretched  calm  on  either  hand. 

And  when  at  last  from  the  distant  shore 
A little  boat  stole  out,  to  reach 
Our  loneliness,  and  bring  once  more 
Fresh  human  thought  and  speech, 

We  told  our  tale,  and  the  boatmen  cried: 

“’Twas  the  Pocahontas,  — all  were  lost! 
For  miles  along  the  coast  the  tide 
Her  shattered  timbers  tossed.  99 

Then  I looked  the  whole  horizon  round,  — 
So  beautiful  the  ocean  spread 
About  us,  o’er  those  sailors  drowned! 
“Father  in  heaven,”  I said,  — 

A child’s  grief  struggling  in  my  breast,  — 
“Do  purposeless  thy  children  meet 
Such  bitter  death?  How  was  it  best 
These  hearts  should  cease  to  beat? 

“ Oh  wherefore  ? Are  we  naught  to  Thee  ? 
Like  senseless  weeds  that  rise  and  fall 
Upon  thine  awful  sea,  are  we 
No  more  then,  after  all  ? 99 


10 


THE  WKECK  OF  THE  POCAHONTAS 


And  I shut  the  beauty  from  my  sight, 

For  I thought  of  the  dead  that  lay  below; 

From  the  bright  air  faded  the  warmth  and  light, 
There  came  a chill  like  snow. 

Then  I heard  the  far-off  rote  resound, 

Where  the  breakers  slow  and  slumberous  rolled, 

And  a subtile  sense  of  Thought  profound 
Touched  me  with  power  untold. 

And  like  a voice  eternal  spake 

That  wondrous  rhythm,  and,  “Peace,  be  still !” 

It  murmured,  “bow  thy  head  and  take 
Life’s  rapture  and  life’s  ill, 

MAnd  wait.  At  last  all  shall  be  clear.  ” 

The  long,  low,  mellow  music  rose 

And  fell,  and  soothed  my  dreaming  ear 
With  infinite  repose. 

Sighing  I climbed  the  lighthouse  stair, 

Half  forgetting  my  grief  and  pain; 

And  while  the  day  died,  sweet  and  fair, 

I lit  the  lamps  again. 


A THANKSGIVING 


11 


A THANKSGIVING 

High  on  the  ledge  the  wind  blows  the  bayberry 
bright, 

Turning  the  leaves  till  they  shudder  and  shine  in  the 
light; 

Yellow  St.  John’s-wort  and  yarrow  are  nodding  their 
heads, 

Iris  and  wild-rose  are  glowing  in  purples  and  reds. 

Swift  flies  the  schooner  careering  beyond  o’er  the  blue; 

Faint  shows  the  furrow  she  leaves  as  she  cleaves  lightly 
through ; 

Gay  gleams  the  fluttering  flag  at  her  delicate  mast; 

Full  swell  the  sails  with  the  wind  that  is  following  fast. 

Quail  and  sandpiper  and  swallow  and  sparrow  are  here : 

Sweet  sound  their  manifold  notes,  high  and  low,  far 
and  near; 

Chorus  of  musical  waters,  the  rush  of  the  breeze, 

Steady  and  strong  from  the  south,  — what  glad  voices 
are  these ! 

O cup  of  the  wild-rose,  curved  close  to  hold  odorous 
dew, 

What  thought  do  you  hide  in  your  heart?  I would 
that  I knew ! 


12 


THE  MINUTE-GUNS 


0 beautiful  Iris,  unfurling  your  purple  and  gold, 

What  victory  fling  you  abroad  in  the  flags  you  unfold  ? 

Sweet  may  your  thought  be,  red  rose,  but  still  sweeter 
is  mine, 

Close  in  my  heart  hidden,  clear  as  your  dewdrop 
divine. 

Flutter  your  gonfalons,  Iris,  the  paean  I sing 

Is  for  victory  better  than  joy  or  than  beauty  can  bring. 

Into  thy  calm  eyes,  0 Nature,  I look  and  rejoice; 

Prayerful,  I add  my  one  note  to  the  Infinite  voice : 

As  shining  and  singing  and  sparkling  glides  on  the 
glad  day, 

And  eastward  the  swift-rolling  planet  wheels  into  the 
gray. 


THE  MINUTE-GUNS 

I stood  within  the  little  cove, 

Full  of  the  morning’s  life  and  hope, 
While  heavily  the  eager  waves 

Charged  thundering  up  the  rocky  slope. 

The  splendid  breakers!  How  they  rushed, 
All  emerald  green  and  flashing  white, 
Tumultuous  in  the  morning  sun, 

With  cheer  and  sparkle  and  delight! 


THE  MINUTE-GUNS 


13 


And  freshly  blew  the  fragrant  wind, 

The  wild  sea  wind,  across  their  tops, 

And  caught  the  spray  and  flung  it  far 
In  sweeping  showers  of  glittering  drops. 

Within  the  cove  all  flashed  and  foamed 
With  many  a fleeting  rainbow  hue ; 

Without,  gleamed  bright  against  the  sky 
A tender  wavering  line  of  blue, 

Where  tossed  the  distant  waves,  and  far 
Shone  silver- white  a quiet  sail; 

And  overhead  the  soaring  gulls 

With  graceful  pinions  stemmed  the  gale. 

And  all  my  pulses  thrilled  with  joy, 

Watching  the  winds’  and  waters’  strife, 

With  sudden  rapture,  — and  I cried, 

“ Oh,  sweet  is  life ! Thank  God  for  life ! ” 

Sailed  any  cloud  across  the  sky, 

Marring  this  glory  of  the  sun’s? 

Over  the  sea,  from  distant  forts, 

There  came  the  boom  of  minute-guns! 

War-tidings!  Many  a brave  soul  fled, 

And  many  a heart  the  message  stuns ! 

I saw  no  more  the  joyous  waves, 

I only  heard  the  minute-guns. 


SEAWARD 


14 


SEAWARD 

TO  

How  long  it  seems  since  that  mild  April  night, 
When,  leaning  from  the  window,  you  and  I 
Heard,  clearly  ringing  from  the  shadowy  bight, 
The  loon’s  unearthly  cry ! 

Southwest  the  wind  blew,  million  little  waves 
Ran  rippling  round  the  point  in  mellow  tune, 
But  mournful,  like  the  voice  of  one  who  raves, 
That  laughter  of  the  loon! 

We  called  to  him,  while  blindly  through  the  haze 
Uprose  the  meagre  moon  behind  us,  slow, 

So  dim,  the  fleet  of  boats  we  scarce  could  trace, 
Moored  lightly  just  below. 

We  called,  and  lo,  he  answered!  Half  in  fear 
We  sent  the  note  back.  Echoing  rock  and  bay 
Made  melancholy  music  far  and  near, 

Sadly  it  died  away. 

That  schooner,  you  remember  ? Elying  ghost ! 

Her  canvas  catching  every  wandering  beam, 
Aerial,  noiseless,  past  the  glimmering  coast 
She  glided  like  a dream. 


ROCK  WEEDS 


15 


Would  we  were  leaning  from  your  window  now, 
Together  calling  to  the  eerie  loon, 

The  fresh  wind  blowing  care  from  either  brow, 
This  sumptuous  night  of  June! 

So  many  sighs  load  this  sweet  inland  air, 

’Tis  hard  to  breathe,  nor  can  we  find  relief,  - 
However  lightly  touched  we  all  must  share 
This  nobleness  of  grief. 

But  sighs  are  spent  before  they  reach  your  ear; 

Vaguely  they  mingle  with  the  water’s  rune, 
Ho  sadder  sound  salutes  you  than  the  clear, 

Wild  laughter  of  the  loon. 


EOCK  WEEDS 

So  bleak  these  shores,  wind-swept  and  all  the  year 
Washed  by  the  wild  Atlantic’s  restless  tide, 

You  would  not  dream  that  flowers  the  woods  hold  dear 
Amid  such  desolation  dare  abide. 

Yet  when  the  bitter  winter  breaks,  some  day, 

With  soft  winds  fluttering  her  garments’  hem, 

Up  from  the  sweet  South  comes  the  lingering  May, 
Sets  the  first  wind-flower  trembling  on  its  stem; 


16 


ROCK  WEEDS 


Scatters  her  violets  with  lavish  hands, 

White,  blue,  and  amber;  calls  the  columbine, 

Till  like  clear  flame  in  lonely  nooks,  gay  bands 
Swinging  their  scarlet  bells,  obey  the  sign; 

Makes  buttercups  and  dandelions  blaze, 

And  throws  in  glimmering  patches  here  and  there, 

The  little  eyebright’s  pearls,  and  gently  lays 
The  impress  of  her  beauty  everywhere. 

Later,  June  bids  the  sweet  wild  rose  to  blow; 

Wakes  from  its  dream  the  drowsy  pimpernel; 

Unfolds  the  bindweed’s  ivory  buds,  that  glow 
As  delicately  blushing  as  a shell. 

Then  purple  Iris  smiles,  and  hour  by  hour, 

The  fair  procession  multiplies;  and  soon, 

In  clusters  creamy  white,  the  elder-flower 

Waves  its  broad  disk  against  the  rising  moon. 

O’er  quiet  beaches  shelving  to  the  sea 

Tall  mulleins  sway,  and  thistles;  all  day  long 

Flows  in  the  wooing  water  dreamily, 

With  subtile  music  in  its  slumberous  song. 

Herb-robert  hears,  and  princess ’-feather  bright, 

And  goldthread  clasps  the  little  skull-cap  blue ; 


ROCK  WEEDS 


And  troops  of  swallows,  gathering  for  their  flight, 
O’er  goldenrod  and  asters  hold  review. 

The  barren  island  dreams  in  flowers,  while  blow 
The  south  winds,  drawing  haze  o’er  sea  and  land; 

Yet  the  great  heart  of  ocean,  throbbing  slow, 

Makes  the  frail  blossoms  vibrate  where  they  stand 

And  hints  of  heavier  pulses  soon  to  shake 
Its  mighty  breast  when  summer  is  no  more, 

And  devastating  waves  sweep  on  and  break, 

And  clasp  with  girdle  white  the  iron  shore. 

Close  folded,  safe  within  the  sheltering  seed, 

Blossom  and  bell  and  leafy  beauty  hide; 

Nor  icy  blast,  nor  bitter  spray  they  heed, 

But  patiently  their  wondrous  change  abide. 

The  heart  of  God  through  his  creation  stirs, 

We  thrill  to  feel  it,  trembling  as  the  flowers 

That  die  to  live  again,  — his  messengers, 

To  keep  faith  firm  in  these  sad  souls  of  ours. 

The  waves  of  Time  may  devastate  our  lives, 

The  frosts  of  age  may  check  our  failing  breath, 

They  shall  not  touch  the  spirit  that  survives 
Triumphant  over  doubt  and  pain  and  death. 


18 


THE  SANDPIPER 


THE  SANDPIPER 

Across  the  narrow  beach  we  flit, 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I, 

And  fast  I gather,  bit  by  hit, 

The  scattered  driftwood  bleached  and  dry. 

The  wild  waves  reach  their  hands  for  it, 

The  wild  wind  raves,  the  tide  runs  high, 

As  up  and  down  the  beach  we  flit,  — 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Above  our  heads  the  sullen  clouds 
Scud  black  and  swift  across  the  sky; 

Like  silent  ghosts  in  misty  shrouds 
Stand  out  the  white  lighthouses  high. 

Almost  as  far  as  eye  can  reach 
I see  the  close-reefed  vessels  fly, 

As  fast  we  flit  along  the  beach,  — 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

I watch  him  as  he  skims  along, 

Uttering  his  sweet  and  mournful  cry. 

He  starts  not  at  my  fitful  song, 

Or  flash  of  fluttering  drapery. 

He  has  no  thought  of  any  wrong; 

He  scans  me  with  a fearless  eye. 

Stanch  friends  are  we,  well  tried  and  strong, 
The  little  sandpiper  and  I. 


TWILIGHT 


19 


Comrade,  where  wilt  thou  be  to-night 
When  the  loosed  storm  breaks  furiously  ? 
My  driftwood  fire  will  burn  so  bright ! 

To  what  warm  shelter  canst  thou  fly  ? 

I do  not  fear  for  thee,  though  wroth 
The  tempest  rushes  through  the  sky: 

For  are  we  not  God's  children  both, 

Thou,  little  sandpiper,  and  I ? 


TWILIGHT 

September's  slender  crescent  grows  again 
Distinct  in  yonder  peaceful  evening  red, 

Clearer  the  stars  are  sparkling  overhead, 

And  all  the  sky  is  pure,  without  a stain. 

Cool  blows  the  evening  wind  from  out  the  West 

And  bows  the  flowers,  the  last  sweet  flowers  that 
bloom,  — 

Pale  asters,  many  a heavy-waving  plume 
Of  goldenrod  that  bends  as  if  opprest. 

The  summer's  songs  are  hushed.  Up  the  lone  shore 
The  weary  waves  wash  sadly,  and  a grief 
Sounds  in  the  wind,  like  farewells  fond  and  brief. 
The  cricket's  chirp  but  makes  the  silence  more. 


20 


THE  SWALLOW 


Life’s  autumn  comes;  the  leaves  begin  to  fall; 

The  moods  of  spring  and  summer  pass  away; 
The  glory  and  the  rapture,  day  by  day, 

Depart,  and  soon  the  quiet  grave  folds  all. 

0 thoughtful  sky,  how  many  eyes  in  vain  ' 

Are  lifted  to  your  beauty,  full  of  tears! 

How  many  hearts  go  back  through  all  the  years, 
Heavy  with  loss,  eager  with  questioning  pain, 

To  read  the  dim  Hereafter,  to  obtain 

One  glimpse  beyond  the  earthly  curtain,  where 
Their  dearest  dwell,  where  they  may  be  or  e’er 
September’s  slender  crescent  shines  again! 


THE  SWALLOW 

The  swallow  twitters  about  the  eaves; 

Blithely  she  sings,  and  sweet  and  clear; 
Around  her  climb  the  woodbine  leaves 
In  a golden  atmosphere. 

The  summer  wind  sways  leaf  and  spray, 

That  catch  and  cling  to  the  cool  gray  wall; 
The  bright  sea  stretches  miles  away, 

And  the  noon  sun  shines  o’er  all. 


THE  SWALLOW 


21 


In  the  chamber’s  shadow,  quietly, 

I stand  and  worship  the  sky  and  the  leaves, 
The  golden  air  and  the  brilliant  sea, 

The  swallow  at  the  eaves. 

Like  a living  jewel  she  sits  and  sings; 

Fain  would  I read  her  riddle  aright, 

Fain  would  I know  whence  her  rapture  springs, 
So  strong  in  a thing  so  slight! 

The  fine,  clear  fire  of  joy  that  steals 
Through  all  my  spirit  at  what  I see 
In  the  glimpse  my  window’s  space  reveals,  — 
That  seems  no  mystery ! 

But  scarce  for  her  joy  can  she  utter  her  song; 

Yet  she  knows  not  the  beauty  of  skies  or  seas. 
Is  it  bliss  of  living,  so  sweet  and  strong  ? 

Is  it  love,  which  is  more  than  these  ? 

O happy  creature ! what  stirs  thee  so  ? 

A spark  of  the  gladness  of  God  thou  art. 

Why  should  we  seek  to  find  and  to  know 
The  secret  of  thy  heart? 

Before  the  gates  of  his  mystery 

Trembling  we  knock  with  an  eager  hand; 
Silent  behind  them  waiteth  He; 

Not  yet  may  we  understand. 


22 


A GRATEFUL  HEART 


But  thrilling  throughout  the  universe 
Throbs  the  pulse  of  his  mighty  will, 

Till  we  gain  the  knowledge  of  joy  or  curse 
In  the  choice  of  good  or  ill. 

He  looks  from  the  eyes  of  the  little  child, 

And  searches  souls  with  their  gaze  so  clear; 
To  the  heart  some  agony  makes  wild 
He  whispers,  “I  am  here.” 

He  smiles  in  the  face  of  every  flower; 

In  the  swallow’s  twitter  of  sweet  content 
He  speaks,  and  we  follow  through  every  hour 
The  way  his  deep  thought  went. 

Here  should  be  courage  and  hope  and  faith; 

Naught  has  escaped  the  trace  of  his  hand; 
And  a voice  in  the  heart  of  his  silence  saith, 
One  day  we  shall  understand. 


A GRATEFUL  HEART 

Last  night  I stole  away  alone,  to  find 
A mellow  crescent  setting  o’er  the  sea, 
And  lingered  in  its  light,  while  over  me 
Blew  fitfully  the  grieving  autumn  wind. 


A GRATEFUL  HEART 


23 


And  somewhat  sadly  to  myself  I said, 

“ Summer  is  gone,”  and  watched  how  bright  and 
fast 

Through  the  moon’s  track  the  little  waves  sped 
past,  — 

“ Summer  is  gone!  her  golden  days  are  dead.” 

Regretfully  I thought,  “ Since  I have  trod 
Earth’s  ways  with  willing  or  reluctant  feet, 

Never  did  season  bring  me  days  more  sweet, 
Crowned  with  rare  joys  and  priceless  gifts  from  God. 

“And  they  are  gone:  they  will  return  no  more.” 

The  slender  moon  went  down,  all  red  and  still: 

The  stars  shone  clear,  the  silent  dews  fell  chill; 

The  waves  with  ceaseless  murmur  washed  the  shore. 

A low  voice  spake : “ And  wherefore  art  thou  sad  ? 
Here  in  thy  heart  all  summer  folded  lies, 

And  smiles  in  sunshine  though  the  sweet  time  dies: 
’T  is  thine  to  keep  forever  fresh  and  glad!  ” 

Tea,  gentle  voice,  though  the  fair  days  depart, 

And  skies  grow  cold  above  the  restless  sea, 

God’s  gifts  are  measureless,  and  there  shall  be 
Eternal  summer  in  the  grateful  heart. 


24 


THE  SPANIARDS’  GRAVES 


THE  SPANIARDS'  GRAVES 

AT  THE  ISLES  OF  SHOALS 

0 sailors,  did  sweet  eyes  look  after  you 
The  day  you  sailed  away  from  sunny  Spain  ? 

Bright  eyes  that  followed  fading  ship  and  crew, 
Melting  in  tender  rain  ? 

Did  no  one  dream  of  that  drear  night  to  he, 

Wild  with  the  wind,  fierce  with  the  stinging  snow, 

When  on  yon  granite  point  that  frets  the  sea, 

The  ship  met  her  death-blow  ? 

Fifty  long  years  ago  these  sailors  died: 

(None  know  how  many  sleep  beneath  the  waves:) 

Fourteen  gray  headstones,  rising  side  by  side, 

Point  out  their  nameless  graves,  — 

Lonely,  unknown,  deserted,  but  for  me, 

And  the  wild  birds  that  flit  with  mournful  cry, 

And  sadder  winds,  and  voices  of  the  sea 
That  moans  perpetually. 

Wives,  mothers,  maidens,  wistfully,  in  vain 
Questioned  the  distance  for  the  yearning  sail, 

That,  leaning  landward,  should  have  stretched  again 
White  arms  wide  on  the  gale, 


WATCHING 


25 


To  bring  back  their  beloved.  Year  by  year, 

Weary  they  watched,  till  youth  and  beauty  passed, 
And  lustrous  eyes  grew  dim  and  age  drew  near, 

And  hope  was  dead  at  last. 

Still  summer  broods  o’er  that  delicious  land, 

Eich,  fragrant,  warm  with  skies  of  golden  glow: 
Live  any  yet  of  that  forsaken  band 
Who  loved  so  long  ago? 

O Spanish  women,  over  the  far  seas, 

Could  I but  show  you  where  your  dead  repose ! 
Could  I send  tidings  on  this  northern  breeze 
That  strong  and  steady  blows ! 

Dear  dark-eyed  sisters,  you  remember  yet 

These  you  have  lost,  but  you  can  never  know 
One  stands  at  their  bleak  graves  whose  eyes  are 
wet 

With  thinking  of  your  woe ! 


WATCHING 

In  childhood’s  season  fair, 

On  many  a balmy,  moonless  summer  night, 

While  wheeled  the  lighthouse  arms  of  dark  and  bright 
Far  through  the  humid  air; 


26 


WATCHING 


How  patient  have  I been, 

Sitting  alone,  a happy  little  maid, 

Waiting  to  see,  careless  and  unafraid, 

My  father’s  boat  come  in; 

Close  to  the  water’s  edge 
Holding  a tiny  spark,  that  he  might  steer 
(So  dangerous  the  landing,  far  and  near) 

Safe  past  the  ragged  ledge. 

I had  no  fears,  — not  one; 

The  wild,  wide  waste  of  water  leagues  around 
Washed  ceaselessly;  there  was  no  human  sound, 
And  I was  all  alone. 

But  Nature  was  so  kind ! 

Like  a dear  friend  I loved  the  loneliness; 

My  heart  rose  glad,  as  at  some  sweet  caress, 
When  passed  the  wandering  wind. 

Yet  it  was  joy  to  hear, 

Erom  out  the  darkness,  sounds  grow  clear  at  last, 
Of  rattling  rowlock,  and  of  creaking  mast, 

And  voices  drawing  near ! 

“Is’t  thou,  dear  father?  Say!  ” 

What  well-known  shout  resounded  in  reply, 

As  loomed  the  tall  sail,  smitten  suddenly 
With  the  great  lighthouse  ray ! 


IN  MAY 


27 


I will  be  patient  now, 

Dear  Heavenly  Father,  waiting  here  for  Thee : 

I know  the  darkness  holds  Thee.  Shall  I be 
Afraid,  when  it  is  Thou  ? 

On  thy  eternal  shore, 

In  pauses,  when  life’s  tide  is  at  its  prime, 

I hear  the  everlasting  rote  of  Time 
Beating  for  evermore. 

Shall  I not  then  rejoice? 

Oh,  never  lost  or  sad  should  child  of  thine 
Sit  waiting,  fearing  lest  there  come  no  sign, 

No  whisper  of  thy  voice ! 

IN  MAY 

That  was  a curlew  calling  overhead, 

That  fine,  clear  whistle  shaken  from  the  clouds: 
See!  hovering  o’er  the  swamp  with  wings  outspread, 
He  sinks  where  at  its  edge  in  shining  crowds 
The  yellow  violets  dance  as  they  unfold, 

In  the  blithe  spring  wind,  all  their  green  and  gold. 

Blithe  south-wind,  spreading  bloom  upon  the  sea, 
Drawing  about  the  world  this  band  of  haze 
So  softly  delicate,  and  bringing  me 

A touch  of  balm  that  like  a blessing  stays; 


28 


IN  MAY 


Though  beauty  like  a dream  bathes  sea  and  land, 

For  the  first  time  Death  holds  me  by  the  hand. 

Yet  none  the  less  the  swallows  weave  above 

Through  the  bright  air  a web  of  light  and  song, 
And  calling  clear  and  sweet  from  cove  to  cove, 

The  sandpiper,  the  lonely  rocks  among, 

Makes  wistful  music,  and  the  singing  sea 
Sends  its  strong  chorus  upward  solemnly. 

0 Mother  Nature,  infinitely  dear! 

Vainly  I search  the  beauty  of  thy  face, 

Vainly  thy  myriad  voices  charm  my  ear ; 

I cannot  gather  from  thee  any  trace 
Of  God’s  intent.  Help  me  to  understand 
Why,  this  sweet  mom,  Death  holds  me  by  the  hand. 

1 watch  the  waves,  shoulder  to  shoulder  set, 

That  strive  and  vanish  and  are  seen  no  more. 

The  earth  is  sown  with  graves  that  we  forget, 

And  races  of  mankind  the  wide  world  o’er 
Rise,  strive,  and  vanish,  leaving  naught  behind, 

Like  changing  waves  swept  by  the  changing  wind. 

“ Hard-hearted,  cold,  and  blind,”  she  answers  me, 

“ Vexing  thy  soul  with  riddles  hard  to  guess ! 

No  waste  of  any  atom  canst  thou  see, 

Nor  make  I any  gesture  purposeless. 


A SUMMER  DAY 


29 


Lift  thy  dim  eyes  up  to  the  conscious  sky ! 

God  meant  that  rapture  in  the  curlew's  cry. 

“He  holds  his  whirling  worlds  in  check;  not  one 
May  from  its  awful  orbit  swerve  aside ; 

Yet  breathes  He  in  this  south-wind,  bids  the  sun 
Wake  the  fair  flowers  He  fashioned,  far  and  wide, 
And  this  strong  pain  thou  canst  not  understand 
Is  but  his  grasp  on  thy  reluctant  hand.” 

A SUMMEE  DAY 

At  daybreak  in  the  fresh  light,  joyfully 
The  fishermen  drew  in  their  laden  net; 

The  shore  shone  rosy  purple,  and  the  sea 
Was  streaked  with  violet; 

And  pink  with  sunrise,  many  a shadowy  sail 
Lay  southward,  lighting  up  the  sleeping  bay; 

And  in  the  west  the  white  moon,  still  and  pale, 
Faded  before  the  day. 

Silence  was  everywhere.  The  rising  tide 
Slowly  filled  every  cove  and  inlet  small ; 

A musical  low  whisper,  multiplied, 

You  heard,  and  that  was  all. 

No  clouds  at  dawn,  but  as  the  sun  climbed  higher, 
White  columns,  thunderous,  splendid,  up  the  sky 


30 


A SUMMER  DAY 


Floated  and  stood,  heaped  in  his  steady  fire, 

A stately  company. 

Stealing  along  the  coast  from  cape  to  cape 
The  weird  mirage  crept  tremulously  on, 

In  many  a magic  change  and  wondrous  shape, 
Throbbing  beneath  the  sun. 

At  noon  the  wind  rose,  swept  the  glassy  sea 
To  sudden  ripple,  thrust  against  the  clouds 

A strenuous  shoulder,  gathering  steadily, 

Drove  them  before  in  crowds; 

Till  all  the  west  was  dark,  and  inky  black 
The  level-ruffled  water  underneath, 

And  up  the  wind  cloud  tossed,  — a ghostly  rack, 

In  many  a ragged  wreath. 

Then  sudden  roared  the  thunder,  a great  peal 
Magnificent,  that  broke  and  rolled  away; 

And  down  the  wind  plunged,  like  a furious  keel, 
Cleaving  the  sea  to  spray; 

And  brought  the  rain  sweeping  o’er  land  and  sea. 
And  then  was  tumult!  Lightning  sharp  and 
keen, 

Thunder,  wind,  rain,  — a mighty  jubilee 
The  heaven  and  earth  between! 


A SUMMER  DAY 


31 


Loud  the  roused  ocean  sang,  a chorus  grand ; 

A solemn  music  rolled  in  undertone 
Of  waves  that  broke  about,  on  either  hand, 

The  little  island  lone; 

Where,  joyful  in  his  tempest  as  his  calm, 

Held  in  the  hollow  of  that  hand  of  his, 

I joined  with  heart  and  soul  in  God’s  great  psalm, 
Thrilled  with  a nameless  bliss. 

Soon  lulled  the  wind,  the  summer  storm  soon  died; 

The  shattered  clouds  went  eastward,  drifting  slow; 
From  the  low  sun  the  rain-fringe  swept  aside, 

Bright  in  his  rosy  glow, 

And  wide  a splendor  streamed  through  all  the  sky; 

O’er  sea  and  land  one  soft,  delicious  blush, 

That  touched  the  gray  rocks  lightly,  tenderly ; 

A transitory  flush. 

Warm,  odorous  gusts  blew  off  the  distant  land, 

With  spice  of  pine-woods,  breath  of  hay  new 
mown, 

O’er  miles  of  waves  and  sea  scents  cool  and  bland, 
Full  in  our  faces  blown. 

Slow  faded  the  sweet  light,  and  peacefully 
The  quiet  stars  came  out,  one  after  one: 


32 


REGRET 


The  holy  twilight  fell  upon  the  sea, 

The  summer  day  was  done. 

Such  unalloyed  delight  its  hours  had  given, 

Musing,  this  thought  rose  in  my  grateful  mind, 
That  God,  who  watches  all  things,  up  in  heaven, 
With  patient  eyes  and  kind, 

Saw  and  was  pleased,  perhaps,  one  child  of  his 
Dared  to  be  happy  like  the  little  birds, 

Because  He  gave  his  children  days  like  this, 
Rejoicing  beyond  words; 

Dared,  lifting  up  to  Him  untroubled  eyes 
In  gratitude  that  worship  is,  and  prayer, 

Sing  and  be  glad  with  ever  new  surprise, 

He  made  his  world  so  fair! 

REGRET 

Softly  Death  touched  her,  and  she  passed  away 
Out  of  this  glad,  bright  world  she  made  more  fair, 
Sweet  as  the  apple-blossoms,  when  in  May 
The  orchards  flush,  of  summer  grown  aware. 

All  that  fresh,  delicate  beauty  gone  from  sight, 

That  gentle,  gracious  presence  felt  no  more! 

How  must  the  house  be  emptied  of  delight, 

What  shadows  on  the  threshold  she  passed  o'er! 


REGRET 


33 


She  loved  me.  Surely  I was  grateful,  yet 
I could  not  give  her  hack  all  she  gave  me. 

Ever  I think  of  it  with  vague  regret, 

Musing  upon  a summer  by  the  sea: 

Kemembering  troops  of  merry  girls  who  pressed 
About  me  — clinging  arms  and  tender  eyes, 

And  love,  like  scent  of  roses.  With  the  rest 
She  came,  to  fill  my  heart  with  new  surprise. 

The  day  I left  them  all,  and  sailed  away, 

While  o’er  the  calm  sea,  ’neath  the  soft  gray  sky, 

They  waved  farewell,  she  followed  me,  to  say 
Yet  once  again  her  wistful,  sweet  “good-by.” 

At  the  boat’s  bow  she  drooped ; her  light-green  dress 
Swept  o’er  the  skiff  in  many  a graceful  fold; 

Her  glowing  face,  bright  with  a mute  caress, 

Crowned  with  her  lovely  hair  of  shadowy  gold: 

And  tears  she  dropped  into  the  crystal  brine 
For  me,  unworthy  — as  we  slowly  swung 

Free  of  the  mooring.  Her  last  look  was  mine, 
Seeking  me  still  the  motley  crowd  among. 

O tender  memory  of  the  dead  I hold 

So  precious  through  the  fret  and  change  of  years ! 

Were  I to  live  till  Time  itself  grew  old, 

The  sad  sea  would  be  sadder  for  those  tears. 


34 


BEFORE  SUNRISE 


BEFOBE  SUNEISE 

This  grassy  gorge,  as  daylight  failed  last  night, 

I traversed  toward  the  west,  where,  thin  and 
' young, 

Bent  like  Diana’s  how  and  silver  bright, 

Half  lost  in  rosy  haze,  a crescent  hung. 

I paused  upon  the  beach’s  upper  edge: 

The  violet  east  all  shadowy  lay  behind; 

Southward  the  lighthouse  glittered  o’er  the  ledge, 

And  lightly,  softly  blew  the  western  wind. 

And  at  my  feet,  between  the  turf  and  stone, 

Wild  roses,  bay  berry,  purple  thistles  tall, 

And  pink  herb-robert  grew,  where  shells  were  strown 
And  morning-glory  vines  climbed  over  all. 

I stooped  the  closely  folded  buds  to  note, 

That  gleamed  in  the  dim  light  mysteriously, 

While,  full  of  whispers  of  the  far-off  rote, 

Summer’s  enchanted  dusk  crept  o’er  the  sea. 

And  sights  and  sounds  and  sea- scents  delicate, 

So  wrought  upon  my  soul  with  sense  of  bliss, 

Happy  I sat  as  if  at  heaven’s  gate, 

Asking  on  earth  no  greater  joy  than  this. 


BEFORE  SUNRISE 


35 


And  now,  at  dawn,  upon  the  beach  again, 

Kneeling  I wait  the  coming  of  the  sun, 

Watching  the  looser-folded  buds,  and  fain 
To  see  the  marvel  of  their  day  begun. 

All  the  world  lies  so  dewy-fresh  and  still! 

Whispers  so  gently  all  the  water  wide, 

Hardly  it  breaks  the  silence:  from  the  hill 
Come  clear  bird- voices  mingling  with  the  tide. 

Sunset  or  dawn:  which  is  the  lovelier?  Lo! 

My  darlings,  sung  to  all  the  balmy  night 

By  summer  waves  and  softest  winds  that  blow, 

Begin  to  feel  the  thrilling  of  the  light  I 

Red  lips  of  roses,  waiting  to  be  kissed 

By  early  sunshine,  soon  in  smiles  will  break. 

But  oh,  ye  morning-glories,  that  keep  tryst 
With  the  first  ray  of  daybreak,  ye  awake ! 

O bells  of  triumph,  ringing  noiseless  peals 
Of  unimagined  music  to  the  day ! 

Almost  I could  believe  each  blossom  feels 
The  same  delight  that  sweeps  my  soul  away. 

0 bells  of  triumph!  delicate  trumpets,  thrown 

Heavenward  and  earthward,  turned  east,  west,  north, 
south, 


36 


BEFORE  SUNRISE 


In  lavish  beauty,  who  through  you  has  blown 

This  sweet  cheer  of  the  morning  with  calm  mouth  ? 

’T  is  God  who  breathes  the  triumph;  He  who 
wrought 

The  tender  curves,  and  laid  the  tints  divine 
Along  the  lovely  lines;  the  Eternal  Thought 
That  troubles  all  our  lives  with  wise  design. 

Yea,  out  of  pain  and  death  his  beauty  springs, 

And  out  of  doubt  a deathless  confidence: 

Though  we  are  shod  with  leaden  cares,  our  wings 
Shall  lift  us  yet  out  of  our  deep  suspense ! 

Thou  great  Creator!  Pardon  us  who  reach 
Eor  other  heaven  beyond  this  world  of  thine, 

This  matchless  world,  where  thy  least  touch  doth 
teach 

Thy  solemn  lessons  clearly,  line  on  line. 

And  help  us  to  be  grateful,  we  who  live 
Such  sordid,  fretful  lives  of  discontent, 

Nor  see  the  sunshine  nor  the  flower,  nor  strive 
To  find  the  love  thy  bitter  chastening  meant. 


BY  THE  ROADSIDE 


37 


BY  THE  ROADSIDE 

Dropped  the  warm  rain  from  the  brooding  sky 
Softly  all  the  summer  afternoon; 

Up  the  road  I loitered  carelessly, 

Glad  to  be  alive  in  blissful  June. 

Though  so  gray  the  sky,  and  though  the  mist 
Swept  the  hills  and  half  their  beauty  hid; 

Though  the  scattering  drops  the  broad  leaves  kissed, 
And  no  ray  betwixt  the  vapor  slid, 

Yet  the  daisies  tossed  their  white  and  gold 
In  the  quiet  fields  on  either  side, 

And  the  green  gloom  deepened  in  the  old 
Walnut-trees  that  flung  their  branches  wide; 

And  the  placid  river  wound  away 

Westward  to  the  hills  through  meadows  fair, 

Elower-fringed  and  starred,  while  blithe  and  gay 
Called  the  blackbirds  through  the  balmy  air. 

Right  and  left  I scanned  the  landscape  round; 
Every  shape,  and  scent,  and  wild  bird’s  call, 

Every  color,  curve,  and  gentle  sound, 

Deep  into  my  heart  I gathered  all. 


38 


BY  THE  ROADSIDE 


Up  I looked,  and  down  upon  the  sod 

Sprinkled  thick  with  violets  blue  and  bright ; 
“Surely,  ‘ Through  his  garden  walketh  God/  99 
Low  I whispered,  full  of  my  delight. 

Like  a vision,  on  the  path  before, 

Came  a little  rosy,  sun-browned  maid, 
Straying  toward  me  from  her  cottage  door, 
Paused,  up-looking  shyly,  half  afraid. 

Never  word  she  spake,  but  gazing  so, 

Slow  a smile  rose  to  her  clear  brown  eyes, 
Overflowed  her  face  with  such  a glow 

That  I thrilled  with  sudden,  sweet  surprise. 

Here  was  sunshine  ’neath  the  cloudy  skies! 

Low  I knelt  to  bring  her  face  to  mine; 
Sweeter,  brighter  grew  her  shining  eyes, 

Yet  she  gave  me  neither  word  nor  sign. 

But  within  her  look  a blessing  beamed; 

Meek  I grew  before  it;  was  it  just? 

Was  I worthy  this  pure  light  that  streamed? 
Such  approval,  and  such  love  and  trust! 

Half  the  flowers  I carried  in  my  hands 
Lightly  in  her  pretty  arms  I laid: 


SORROW 


39 


Silent,  but  as  one  who  understands, 

Clasped  them  close  the  rosy  little  maid. 

Fair  behind  the  honeysuckle  spray 
Shone  her  innocent,  delightful  face ! 

Then  I rose  and  slowly  went  my  way, 

Left  her  standing,  lighting  all  the  place. 

While  her  golden  look  stole  after  me, 

Lovelier  bloomed  the  violets  where  I trod; 
More  divine  earths  beauty  seemed  to  be: 
“Through  his  garden  visibly  walked  God.” 

SORROW 

Upon  my  lips  she  laid  her  touch  divine, 

And  merry  speech  and  careless  laughter  died; 
She  fixed  her  melancholy  eyes  on  mine, 

And  would  not  be  denied. 

I saw  the  west  wind  loose  his  cloudlets  white 
In  flocks,  careering  through  the  April  sky ; 

I could  not  sing  though  joy  was  at  its  height, 
For  she  stood  silent  by. 

I watched  the  lovely  evening  fade  away ; 

A mist  was  lightly  drawn  across  the  stars; 


40 


SORROW 


She  broke  my  quiet  dream,  I heard  her  say, 
“Behold  your  prison  bars! 

“Earth’s  gladness  shall  not  satisfy  your  soul, 

This  beauty  of  the  world  in  which  you  live; 

The  crowning  grace  that  sanctifies  the  whole, 

That,  I alone  can  give.” 

I heard  and  shrank  away  from  her  afraid; 

But  still  she  held  me  and  would  still  abide; 

Youth’s  bounding  pulses  slackened  and  obeyed, 
With  slowly  ebbing  tide. 

“Look  thou  beyond  the  evening  star,”  she  said, 
“Beyond  the  changing  splendors  of  the  day; 

Accept  the  pain,  the  weariness,  the  dread, 

Accept  and  bid  me  stay ! ” 

I turned  and  clasped  her  close  with  sudden  strength, 
And  slowly,  sweetly,  I became  aware 

Within  my  arms  God’s  angel  stood  at  length, 
White-robed  and  calm  and  fair. 

And  now  I look  beyond  the  evening  star, 

Beyond  the  changing  splendors  of  the  day, 

Knowing  the  pain  He  sends  more  precious  far, 

More  beautiful,  than  they. 


COURAGE 


41 


NOVEMBER 

There  is  no  wind  at  all  to-niglit 
To  dash  the  drops  against  the  pane ; 

No  sound  abroad,  nor  any  light, 

And  sadly  falls  the  autumn  rain ; 

There  is  no  color  in  the  world, 

No  lovely  tint  on  hill  or  plain; 

The  summer’s  golden  sails  are  furled, 

And  sadly  falls  the  autumn  rain. 

The  earth  lies  tacitly  beneath, 

As  it  were  dead  to  joy  or  pain: 

It  does  not  move,  it  does  not  breathe,  — 

And  sadly  falls  the  autumn  rain. 

And  all  my  heart  is  patient  too, 

I wait  till  it  shall  wake  again; 

The  songs  of  spring  shall  sound  anew, 

Though  sadly  falls  the  autumn  rain. 

COURAGE 

Because  I hold  it  sinful  to  despond, 

And  will  not  let  the  bitterness  of  life 

Blind  me  with  burning  tears,  hut  look  beyond 
Its  tumult  and  its  strife; 


42 


COURAGE 


Because  I lift  my  head  above  the  mist, 

Where  the  sun  shines  and  the  broad  breezes  blow, 

By  every  ray  and  every  raindrop  kissed 
That  God’s  love  doth  bestow; 

Think  you  I find  no  bitterness  at  all  ? 

No  burden  to  be  borne,  like  Christian’s  pack  ? 

Think  you  there  are  no  ready  tears  to  fall 
Because  I keep  them  back? 

Why  should  I hug  life’s  ills  with  cold  reserve, 

To  curse  myself  and  all  who  love  me  ? Nay ! 

A thousand  times  more  good  than  I deserve 
God  gives  me  every  day. 

And  in  each  one  of  these  rebellious  tears, 

Kept  bravely  back,  He  makes  a rainbow  shine; 

Grateful  I take  his  slightest  gift,  no  fears 
Nor  any  doubts  are  mine. 

Dark  skies  must  clear,  and  when  the  clouds  are  past, 
One  golden  day  redeems  a weary  year; 

Patient  I listen,  sure  that  sweet  at  last 
Will  sound  his  voice  of  cheer. 

Then  vex  me  not  with  chiding.  Let  me  be. 

I must  be  glad  and  grateful  to  the  end. 

I grudge  you  not  your  cold  and  darkness,  — me 
The  powers  of  light  befriend. 


REMEMBRANCE 


43 


REMEMBRANCE 

Fragrant  and  soft  the  summer  wind  doth  blow. 
Weary  I lie,  with  heavy,  half-shut  eyes, 

And  watch,  while  wistful  thoughts  within  me 
rise, 

The  curtain  idly  swaying  to  and  fro. 

There  comes  a sound  of  household  toil  from  far, 

A woven  murmur:  voices  shrill  and  sweet, 
Clapping  of  doors,  and  restless  moving  feet, 

And  tokens  faint  of  fret,  and  noise,  and  jar. 

# 

Without,  the  broad  earth  shimmers  in  the  glare, 
Through  the  clear  noon  high  rides  the  blazing 
sun, 

The  birds  are  hushed;  the  cricket’s  chirp  alone 
With  tremulous  music  cleaves  the  drowsy  air. 

I think,  — “Past  the  gray  rocks  the  wavelets  run; 
The  gold-brown  seaweed  drapes  the  ragged  ledge ; 
And  brooding,  silent,  at  the  water’s  edge 
The  white  gull  sitteth,  shining  in  the  sun.” 


44 


SONG 


SONG 

We  sail  toward  evening’s  lonely  star 
That  trembles  in  the  tender  blue; 

One  single  cloud,  a dusky  bar, 

Burnt  with  dull  carmine  through  and  through, 

Slow  smouldering  in  the  summer  sky, 

Lies  low  along  the  fading  west. 

How  sweet  to  watch  its  splendors  die, 
Wave-cradled  thus  and  wind-caressed! 

The  soft  breeze  freshens,  leaps  the  spray 
To  kiss  our  cheeks,  with  sudden  cheer; 

Upon  the  dark  edge  fcof  the  bay 
Lighthouses  kindle,  far  and  near, 

And  through  the  warm  deeps  of  the  sky 
Steal  faint  star- clusters,  while  we  rest 

In  deep  refreshment,  thou  and  I, 

Wave-cradled  thus  and  wind- caressed. 

How  like  a dream  are  earth  and  heaven, 
Star-beam  and  darkness,  sky  and  sea; 

Thy  face,  pale  in  the  shadowy  even, 

Thy  quiet  eyes  that  gaze  on  me ! 

Oh,  realize  the  moment’s  charm, 

Thou  dearest!  we  are  at  life’s  best, 

Folded  in  God’s  encircling  arm, 

'Wave-cradled  thus  and  wind-caressed. 


A TRYST 


45 


A TRYST 

From  out  the  desolation  of  the  North 
An  iceberg  took  its  way, 

From  its  detaining  comrades  breaking  forth, 

And  traveling  night  and  day. 

At  whose  command?  Who  bade  it  sail  the  deep 
With  that  resistless  force  ? 

Who  made  the  dread  appointment  it  must  keep? 
Who  traced  its  awful  course  ? 

To  the  warm  airs  that  stir  in  the  sweet  South, 

A good  ship  spread  her  sails; 

Stately  she  passed  beyond  the  harbor’s  mouth, 
Chased  by  the  favoring  gales; 

And  on  her  ample  decks  a happy  crowd 
Bade  the  fair  land  good-by ; 

Clear  shone  the  day,  with  not  a single  cloud 
In  all  the  peaceful  sky. 

Brave  men,  sweet  women,  little  children  bright, 
For  all  these  she  made  room, 

And  with  her  freight  of  beauty  and  delight 
She  went  to  meet  her  doom. 


46 


A TRYST 


Storms  buffeted  the  iceberg,  spray  was  swept 
Across  its  loftiest  height; 

Guided  alike  by  storm  and  calm,  it  kept 
Its  fatal  path  aright. 

Then  warmer  waves  gnawed  at  its  crumbling  base, 
As  if  in  piteous  plea; 

The  ardent  sun  sent  slow  tears  down  its  face, 

Soft  flowing  to  the  sea. 

v 

Dawn  kissed  it  with  her.  tender  rose  tints,  Eve 
Bathed  it  in  violet, 

The  wistful  color  o’er  it  seemed  to  grieve 
With  a divine  regret. 

Whether  Day  clad  its  clefts  in  rainbows  dim 
And  shadowy  as  a dream, 

Or  Night  through  lonely  spaces  saw  it  swim 
White  in  the  moonlight’s  gleam, 

Ever  Death  rode  upon  its  solemn  heights, 

Ever  his  watch  he  kept; 

Cold  at  its  heart  through  changing  days  and  nights 
Its  changeless  purpose  slept. 

And  where  afar  a smiling  coast  it  passed, 
Straightway  the  air  grew  chill; 

Dwellers  thereon  perceived  a bitter  blast, 

A vague  report  of  ill. 


A TRYST 


47 


Like  some  imperial  creature,  moving  slow, 
Meanwhile,  with  matchless  grace, 

The  stately  ship,  unconscious  of  her  foe, 

Drew  near  the  trysting  place. 

For  still  the  prosperous  breezes  followed  her, 

And  half  the  voyage  was  o’er; 

In  many  a breast  glad  thoughts  began  to  stir 
Of  lands  that  lay  before. 

And  human  hearts  with  longing  love  were  dumb, 
That  soon  should  cease  to  beat, 

Thrilled  with  the  hope  of  meetings  soon  to  come, 
And  lost  in  memories  sweet. 

Was  not  the  weltering  waste  of  water  wide 
Enough  for  both  to  sail  ? 

What  drew  the  two  together  o’er  the  tide, 

Fair  ship  and  iceberg  pale  ? 

There  came  a night  with  neither  moon  nor  star, 
Clouds  draped  the  sky  in  black; 

With  fluttering  canvas  reefed  at  every  spar, 

And  weird  fire  in  her  track, 

The  ship  swept  on;  a wild  wind  gathering  fast 
Drove  her  at  utmost  speed. 

Bravely  she  bent  before  the  fitful  blast 
That  shook  her  like  a reed. 


IMPRISONED 


0 helmsman,  turn  thy  wheel!  Will  no  surmise 
Cleave  through  the  midnight  drear? 

No  warning  of  the  horrible  surprise 
Reach  thine  unconscious  ear? 

She  rushed  upon  her  ruin.  Not  a flash 
Broke  up  the  waiting  dark; 

Dully  through  wind  and  sea  one  awful  crash 
Sounded,  with  none  to  mark. 

Scarcely  her  crew  had  time  to  clutch  despair, 

So  swift  the  work  was  done: 

Ere  their  pale  lips  could  frame  a speechless  prayer, 
They  perished,  every  one! 


IMPRISONED 

Lightly  she  lifts  the  large,  pure,  luminous  shell, 
Poises  it  in  her  strong  and  shapely  hand. 

Listen, ” she  says,  “it  has  a tale  to  tell, 

Spoken  in  language  you  may  understand.  ” 

Smiling,  she  holds  it  at  my  dreaming  ear: 

The  old,  delicious  murmur  of  the  sea 
Steals  like  enchantment  through  me,  and  I hear 
Voices  like  echoes  of  eternity. 


IMPRISONED 


49 


She  stirs  it  softly.  Lo,  another  speech ! 

In  one  of  its  dim  chambers,  shut  from  sight, 
Is  sealed  the  water  that  has  kissed  the  beach 
Where  the  far  Indian  Ocean  leaps  in  light. 

Those  laughing  ripples,  hidden  evermore 
In  utter  darkness,  plaintively  repeat 
Their  lapsing  on  the  glowing  tropic  shore, 

In  melancholy  whispers  low  and  sweet. 

O prisoned  wave  that  may  not  see  the  sun! 

0 voice  that  never  may  be  comforted! 

You  cannot  break  the  web  that  Fate  has  spun ; 
Out  of  your  world  are  light  and  gladness  fled. 

The  red  dawn  nevermore  shall  tremble  far 
Across  the  leagues  of  radiant  brine  to  you; 
You  shall  not  sing  to  greet  the  evening  star, 

Nor  dance  exulting  under  heaven’s  clear  blue. 

Inexorably  woven  is  the  weft 

That  shrouds  from  you  all  joy  but  memory; 
Only  this  tender,  low  lament  is  left 

Of  all  the  sumptuous  splendor  of  the  sea. 


50 


PRESAGE 


PRESAGE 

If,  some  day,  I should  seek  those  eyes 
So  gentle  now,  — and  find  the  strange, 
Pale  shadow  of  a coming  change, 

To  chill  me  with  a sad  surprise; 

Shouldst  thou  recall  what  thou  hast  given, 
And  turn  me  slowly  cold  and  dumb, 
And  thou  thyself  again  become 
Remote  as  any  star  in  heaven; 

Would  the  sky  ever  seem  again 

Perfectly  clear?  Would  the  serene, 
Sweet  face  of  nature  steal  between 
This  grief  and  me,  to  dull  its  pain  ? 

Oh  not  for  many  a weary  day 
Would  sorrow  soften  to  regret, 

And  many  a sun  would  rise  and  set 
Ere  I,  with  cheerful  heart,  could  say : 

81  All  undeserved  it  came.  To-day, 

God  takes  it  back  again,  because 
Too  beautiful  a thing  it  was 
For  such  as  I to  keep  for  aye.” 


MIDSUMMER  MIDNIGHT 


51 


And  ever,  through  the  coming  years, 

My  star,  remote  in  happy  skies, 

Would  seem  more  heavenly  fair  through  eyes 
Yet  tremulous  with  unfallen  tears. 


MIDSUMMER  MIDNIGHT 

The  wide,  still,  moonlit  water  miles  away 

Stretches  in  lonely  splendor.  Whispers  creep 
About  us  from  the  midnight  wind,  and  play 

Among  the  flowers  that  breathe  so  sweet  in  sleep; 
A soft  touch  sways  the  milk-white,  stately  phlox, 
And  on  its  slender  stem  the  poppy  rocks. 

Fair  faces  turn  to  watch  the  dusky  sea, 

And  clear  eyes  brood  upon  the  path  of  light 
The  white  moon  makes,  the  while  deliciously, 

Like  some  vague,  tender  memory  of  delight, 

Or  like  some  half  remembered,  dear  regret, 

Rises  the  odor  of  the  mignonette. 

Midsummer  glories,  moonlight,  flowers  asleep, 

And  delicate  perfume,  mystic  winds  that  blow 
Soft-breathing,  full  of  balm,  and  the  great  deep 
In  leagues  of  shadow  swaying  to  and  fro; 

And  loving  human  thought  to  mark  it  all, 

And  human  hearts  that  to  each  other  call ; 


52 


MIDSUMMER  MIDNIGHT 


Needs  the  enchantment  of  the  summer  night 
Another  touch  to  make  it  perfect  ? Hark ! 

What  sudden  shaft  of  sound,  like  piercing  light, 
Strikes  on  the  ear  athwart  the  moonlit  dark  ? 

Like  some  keen  shock  of  joy  is  heard  within 
The  wondrous  music  of  the  violin. 

It  is  as  if  dumb  Nature  found  a voice, 

And  spoke  with  power,  though  in  an  unknown 
tongue. 

What  kinship  has  the  music  with  the  noise 

Of  waves,  or  winds,  or  with  the  flowers,  slow-swung 
Like  censers  to  and  fro  upon  the  air, 

Or  with  the  shadow,  or  the  moonlight  fair  ? 

And  yet  it  seems  some  subtile  link  exists, 

We  know  not  how.  And  over  every  phase 
Of  thought  and  feeling  wandering  as  it  lists, 

Playing  upon  us  as  the  west- wind  plays 
Over  the  wind-harp,  the  subduing  strain 
Sweeps  with  resistless  power  of  joy  and  pain. 

Slow  ebbs  the  golden  tide,  and  all  is  still. 

Ask  the  magician  at  whose  touch  awoke 
That  mighty,  penetrating,  prisoned  will, 

The  matchless  voice  that  so  divinely  spoke, 
Kindling  to  fresher  life  the  listening  soul, 

What  daring  thought  such  fire  from  heaven  stole? 


APRIL  DAYS 


53 


He  cannot  tell  us  how  the  charm  was  wrought, 
Though  in  his  hand  he  holds  the  potent  key, 

Nor  read  the  spell  that  to  the  sweet  night  brought 
This  crown  of  rapture  and  of  mystery, 

And  lifted  every  heart,  and  drew  away 
All  trace  of  worldliness  that  marred  the  day. 

But  every  head  is  bowed.  We  watch  the  sea 
With  other  eyes,  as  if  some  hint  of  bliss 
Spoke  to  us,  through  the  yearning  melody, 

Of  glad  new  worlds,  of  brighter  lives  than  this; 
While  still  the  milk-white,  stately  phlox  waves  slow, 
And  drowsily  the  poppy  rocks  below. 


APBIL  DAYS 

Oh  the  sweet,  sweet  lapsing  of  the  tide, 

Through  the  still  hours  of  the  golden  afternoon! 

Oh  the  warm,  red  sunshine,  far  and  wide, 

Falling  soft  as  in  the  crowning  days  of  June ! 

Calls  the  gray  sandpiper  from  the  quiet  shore, 

Weave  the  swallows  light  and  music  through  the  air, 
Chants  the  sparrow  all  his  pleasure  o’er  and  o’er, 

Sings  and  smiles  the  Spring,  and  sparkles  every- 
where. 


54 


HEARTBREAK  HILL 


Well  I know  that  death  and  pain  to  all  are  near, 

That,  save  sorrow,  naught  is  certain  this  world 
gives; 

Yet  my  heart  stirs  with  the  budding  of  the  year, 

And  rejoices  still  with  everything  that  lives. 

Fold  me  then,  O south- wind!  God  is  good. 

Gladly,  gratefully  I take  thy  sweet  caress. 

Call,  sandpiper,  from  thy  solitude, 

Every  sight  and  sound  has  power  to  bless. 

Oh  the  sweet,  sweet  lapsing  of  the  tide, 

Through  the  still  hours  of  the  golden  afternoon! 

Nor  death,  nor  pain,  nor  sorrow  shall  abide, 

For  God  blesses  all  his  children,  late  or  soon. 


HEARTBREAK  HILL 

In  Ipswich  town,  not  far  from  the  sea, 

Rises  a hill  which  the  people  call 
Heartbreak  Hill,  and  its  history 
Is  an  old,  old  legend,  known  to  all. 

The  selfsame  dreary,  worn-out  tale 
Told  by  all  peoples  in  every  clime, 

Still  to  be  told  till  the  ages  fail, 

And  there  comes  a pause  in  the  march  of  Time. 


HEARTBREAK  HILL 


55 


It  was  a sailor  who  won  the  heart 

Of  an  Indian  maiden,  lithe  and  young; 

And  she  saw  him  over  the  sea  depart, 

While  sweet  in  her  ear  his  promise  rung; 

For  he  cried,  as  he  kissed  her  wet  eyes  dry, 

“I  ’ll  come  back,  sweetheart;  keep  your  faith!  ” 

She  said,  “ I will  watch  while  the  moons  go  by : ” 
Her  love  was  stronger  than  life  or  death. 

So  this  poor  dusk  Ariadne  kept 

Her  watch  from  the  hilltop  rugged  and  steep ; 

Slowly  the  empty  moments  crept 

While  she  studied  the  changing  face  of  the  deep, 

Fastening  her  eyes  upon  every  speck 
That  crossed  the  ocean  within  her  ken; 

Might  not  her  lover  be  walking  the  deck, 

Surely  and  swiftly  returning  again? 

The  Isles  of  Shoals  loomed,  lonely  and  dim, 

In  the  northeast  distance  far  and  gray, 

And  on  the  horizon’s  uttermost  rim 
The  low  rock  heap  of  Boon  Island  lay. 

And  north  and  south  and  west  and  east 

Stretched  sea  and  land  in  the  blinding  light, 

Till  evening  fell,  and  her  vigil  ceased, 

And  many  a hearth- glow  lit  the  night, 


56 


HEARTBREAK  HILL 


To  mock  those  set  and  glittering  eyes 
Fast  growing  wild  as  her  hope  went  out. 

Hateful  seemed  earth,  and  the  hollow  skies, 

Like  her  own  heart,  empty  of  aught  hut  doubt. 

Oh,  but  the  weary,  merciless  days, 

With  the  sun  above,  with  the  sea  afar,  — 

No  change  in  her  fixed  and  wistful  gaze 
From  the  morning-red  to  the  evening  star! 

Oh,  the  winds  that  blew,  and  the  birds  that  sang, 
The  calms  that  smiled,  and  the  storms  that  rolled, 

The  bells  from  the  town  beneath,  that  rang 

Through  the  summer’s  heat  and  the  winter’s  cold! 

The  flash  of  the  plunging  surges  white, 

The  soaring  gull’s  wild,  boding  cry,  — 

She  was  weary  of  all;  there  was  no  delight 
In  heaven  or  earth,  and  she  longed  to  die. 

What  was  it  to  her  though  the  Dawn  should  paint 
With  delicate  beauty  skies  and  seas  ? 

But  the  sweet,  sad  sunset  splendors  faint 
Made  her  soul  sick  with  memories: 

Drowning  in  sorrowful  purple  a sail 

In  the  distant  east,  where  shadows  grew, 

Till  the  twilight  shrouded  it,  cold  and  pale, 

And  the  tide  of  her  anguish  rose  anew. 


THE  SONG-SPARROW 


57 


Like  a slender  statue  carved  of  stone 
She  sat,  with  hardly  motion  or  breath. 

She  wept  no  tears  and  she  made  no  moan, 

But  her  love  was  stronger  than  life  or  death. 

He  never  came  back ! Yet  faithful  still, 

She  watched  from  the  hilltop  her  life  away. 
And  the  townsfolk  christened  it  Heartbreak  Hill, 
And  it  bears  the  name  to  this  very  day. 


THE  SONG-SPAKBOW 

In  this  sweet,  tranquil  afternoon  of  spring, 

While  the  low  sun  declines  in  the  clear  west, 

I sit  and  hear  the  blithe  song-sparrow  sing 
His  strain  of  rapture  not  to  be  suppressed; 
Pondering  life’s  problem  strange,  while  death  draws 
near, 

I listen  to  his  dauntless  song  of  cheer. 

His  shadow  flits  across  the  quiet  stone: 

Like  that  brief  transit  is  my  space  of  days; 

For,  like  a flower’s  faint  perfume,  youth  is  flown 
Already,  and  there  rests  on  all  life’s  ways 
A dimness;  closer  my  beloved  I clasp, 

For  all  dear  things  seem  slipping  from  my  grasp. 


58 


THE  SONG-SPARROW 


Death  touches  all;  the  light  of  loving  eyes 
Goes  out  in  darkness,  comfort  is  withdrawn; 
Lonely,  and  lonelier  still  the  pathway  lies, 

Going  toward  the  fading  sunset  from  the  dawai: 
Yet  hark ! while  those  fine  notes  the  silence  break, 
As  if  all  trouble  were  some  grave  mistake ! 

Thou  little  bird,  how  canst  thou  thus  rejoice, 

As  if  the  world  had  known  nor  sin  nor  curse? 
God  never  meant  to  mock  us  with  that  voice ! 

That  is  the  key-note  of  the  universe, 

That  song  of  perfect  trust,  of  perfect  cheer, 
Courageous,  constant,  free  of  doubt  or  fear. 

My  little  helper,  ah,  my  comrade  sweet, 

My  old  companion  in  that  far-off  time 
When  on  life’s  threshold  childhood’s  winged  feet 
Danced  in  the  sunrise ! Joy  was  at  its  prime 
When  all  my  heart  responded  to  thy  song, 
Unconscious  of  earth’s  discords  harsh  and  strong. 

Now,  grown  aweary,  sad  with  change  and  loss, 
With  the  enigma  of  myself  dismayed; 

Poor,  save  in  deep  desire  to  bear  the  cross 
God’s  hand  on  his  defenseless  creatures  laid, 
With  patience,  — here  I sit  this  eve  of  spring, 

And  listen  with  bowed  head,  while  thou  dost  sing. 


IN  KITTERY  CHURCHYARD 


59 


And  slowly  all  my  soul  with  comfort  fills, 

And  the  old  hope  revives  and  courage  grows; 

Up  the  deserted  shore  a fresh  tide  thrills, 

And  like  a dream  the  dark  mood  melts  and  goes, 
And  with  thy  joy  again  will  I rejoice: 

God  never  meant  to  mock  us  with  that  voice ! 


IN  KITTERY  CHURCHYARD 

u Mary,  wife  of  Charles  Chauncy,  died  April  23,  1758,  in  the  24th 
year  of  her  age.” 

Crushing  the  scarlet  strawberries  in  the  grass, 

I kneel  to  read  the  slanting  stone.  Alas ! 

How  sharp  a sorrow  speaks ! A hundred  years 
And  more  have  vanished,  with  their  smiles  and  tears, 
Since  here  was  laid,  upon  an  April  day, 

Sweet  Mary  Chauncy  in  the  grave  away,  — 

A hundred  years  since  here  her  lover  stood 
Beside  her  grave  in  such  despairing  mood, 

And  yet  from  out  the  vanished  past  I hear 
His  cry  of  anguish  sounding  deep  and  clear, 

And  all  my  heart  with  pity  melts,  as  though 
To-day’s  bright  sun  were  looking  on  his  woe. 

“Of  such  a wife,  0 righteous  Heaven!  bereft, 

What  joy  for  me,  what  joy  on  earth  is  left? 

Still  from  my  inmost  soul  the  groans  arise, 

Still  flow  the  sorrows  ceaseless  from  mine  eyes.” 


60 


IN  KITTERY  CHURCHYARD 


Alas,  poor  tortured  soul ! I look  away 

From  the  dark  stone,  — how  brilliant  shines  the  day ! 

A low  wall,  over  which  the  roses  shed 

Their  perfumed  petals,  shuts  the  quiet  dead 

Apart  a little,  and  the  tiny  square 

Stands  in  the  broad  and  laughing  field  so  fair, 

And  gay  green  vines  climb  o’er  the  rough  stone  wall, 
And  all  about  the  wild  birds  flit  and  call, 

And  but  a stone’s  throw  southward,  the  blue  sea 
Foils  sparkling  in  and  sings  incessantly. 

Lovely  as  any  dream  the  peaceful  place, 

And  scarcely  changed  since  on  her  gentle  face 
For  the  last  time  on  that  sad  April  day 
He  gazed,  and  felt,  for  him,  all  beauty  lay 
Buried  with  her  forever.  Dull  to  him 
Looked  the  bright  world  through  eyes  with  tears  so 
dim! 

“I  soon  shall  follow  the  same  dreary  way 
That  leads  and  opens  to  the  coasts  of  day.” 

His  only  hope ! But  when  slow  time  had  dealt 
Firmly  with  him  and  kindly,  and  he  felt 
The  storm  and  stress  of  strong  and  piercing  pain 
Yielding  at  last,  and  he  grew  calm  again, 

Doubtless  he  found  another  mate  before 
He  followed  Mary  to  the  happy  shore ! 

But  none  the  less  his  grief  appeals  to  me 
Who  sit  and  listen  to  the  singing  sea 
This  matchless  summer  day,  beside  the  stone 


AT  THE  BREAKERS*  EDGE 


61 


He  made  to  echo  with  his  hitter  moan, 
And  in  my  eyes  I feel  the  foolish  tears 
For  buried  sorrow,  dead  a hundred  years ! 


AT  THE  BREAKERS’  EDGE 

Through  the  wide  sky  thy  north  wind’s  thunder 
roars 

Resistless,  till  no  cloud  is  left  to  flee, 

And  down  the  clear,  cold  heaven  unhindered  pours 
Thine  awful  moonlight  on  the  winter  sea. 

The  vast,  black,  raging  spaces,  torn  and  wild, 

With  an  insensate  fury  answer  back 
To  the  gale’s  challenge;  hurrying  breakers,  piled 
Each  over  each,  roll  through  the  glittering  track. 

I shudder  in  the  terror  of  thy  cold, 

As  buffeted  by  the  fierce  blast  I stand, 

Watching  that  shining  path  of  bronzed  gold, 

With  solemn,  shadowy  rocks  on  either  hand; 

While  at  their  feet,  ghastly  and  white  as  death, 

The  cruel,  foaming  billows  plunge  and  rave. 

0 Father ! where  art  Thou  ? My  feeble  breath 

Cries  to  Thee  through  the  storm  of  wind  and  wave. 


62 


AT  THE  SHEARERS’  EDGE 


The  cry  of  all  thy  children  since  the  first 

That  walked  thy  planets’  myriad  paths  among; 

The  cry  of  all  mankind  whom  doubt  has  cursed, 

In  every  clime>  in  every  age  and  tongue. 

Thou  art  the  cold,  the  swift  fire  that  consumes ; 

Thy  vast,  unerring  forces  never  fail; 

And  Thou  art  in  th6  frailest  flower  that  blooms, 

As  in  the  breath  of  this  tremendous  gale. 

Yet,  though  thy  laws  are  clear  as  light,  and  prove 
Thee  changeless,  ever  human  weakness  craves 

Some  deeper  knowledge  for  our  human  love 

That  looks  with  sad  eyes  o’er  its  wastes  of  graves, 

And  hungers  for  the  dear  hands  softly  drawn, 

One  after  one,  from  out  our  longing  grasp. 

Dost  Thou  reach  out  for  them  ? In  the  sweet  dawn 
Of  some  new  world  thrill  they  within  thy  clasp  ? 

Ah ! what  am  I,  thine  atom,  standing  here 
In  presence  of  thy  pitiless  elements, 

Daring  to  question  thy  great  silence  drear, 

No  voice  may  break  to  lighten  our  suspense! 

Thou  only,  infinite  Patience,  that  endures 
Forever ! Blind  and  dumb  I cling  to  Thee. 

Slow  glides  the  bitter  night,  and  silent  pours 
Thine  awful  moonlight  on  the  winter  sea. 


FOR  THOUGHTS 


63 


“FOR  THOUGHTS” 

A pansy  on  his  breast  she  laid, 

Splendid,  and  dark  with  Tyrian  dyes ; 
“Take  it,  ’tis  like  your  tender  eyes, 
Deep  as  the  midnight  heaven,”  she  said. 

The  rich  rose  mantling  in  her  cheek, 
Before  him  like  the  dawn  she  stood, 
Pausing  upon  Life’s  height,  subdued, 
Yet  triumphing,  both  proud  and  meek. 

And  white  as  winter  stars,  intense 
With  steadfast  fire,  his  brilliant  face 
Bent  toward  her  with  an  eager  grace, 
Pale  with  a rapture  half  suspense. 

(i  You  give  me  then  a thought,  0 Sweet ! ” 
He  cried,  and  kissed  the  purple  flower, 
And  bowed  by  Love’s  resistless  power, 
Trembling  he  sank  before  her  feet. 

She  crowned  his  beautiful  bowed  head 
With  one  caress  of  her  white  hand; 
“Rise  up,  my  flower  of  all  the  land, 
For  all  my  thoughts  are  yours,”  she  said. 


64 


WHEREFORE 


WHEREFORE 

Black  sea,  black  sky ! A ponderous  steamship  driv- 
ing 

Between  them,  laboring  westward  on  her  way, 

And  in  her  path  a trap  of  Death’s  contriving 
Waiting  remorseless  for  its  easy  prey. 

Hundreds  of  souls  within  her  frame  lie  dreaming, 
Hoping  and  fearing,  longing  for  the  light: 

With  human  life  and  thought  and  feeling  teeming, 

She  struggles  onward  through  the  starless  night. 

Upon  her  furnace  fires  fresh  fuel  flinging, 

The  swarthy  firemen  grumble  at  the  dust 
Mixed  with  the  coal  — when  suddenly  upspringing, 
Swift  through  the  smoke-stack  like  a signal  thrust, 

Flares  a red  flame,  a dread  illumination ! 

A cry,  — a tumult ! Slowly  to  her  helm 
The  vessel  yields,  ’mid  shouts  of  acclamation, 

And  joy  and  terror  all  her  crew  o’erwhelm; 

For  looming  from  the  blackness  drear  before  them 
Discovered  is  the  iceberg  — hardly  seen, 

Its  ghastly  precipices  hanging  o’er  them, 

Its  reddened  peaks,  with  dreadful  chasms  between, 


WHEREFORE 


65 


Ere  darkness  swallows  it  again ! and  veering 
Out  of  its  track  the  brave  ship  onward  steers, 

Just  grazing  ruin.  Trembling  still,  and  fearing, 

Her  grateful  people  melt  in  prayers  and  tears. 

Is  it  a mockery,  their  profound  thanksgiving? 

Another  ship  goes  shuddering  to  her  doom 
Unwarned,  that  very  night,  with  hopes  as  living 
With  freight  as  precious,  lost  amid  the  gloom, 

With  not  a ray  to  show  the  apparition 

Waiting  to  slay  her,  none  to  cry  “ Beware ! ” 
Bushing  straight  onward  headlong  to  perdition, 

And  for  her  crew  no  time  vouchsafed  for  prayer. 

Could  they  have  stormed  Heaven's  gate  with  anguished 
praying, 

It  would  not  have  availed  a feather's  weight 
Against  their  doom.  Yet  were  they  disobeying 
No  law  of  God,  to  beckon  such  a fate. 

And  do  not  tell  me  the  Almighty  Master 
Would  work  a miracle  to  save  the  one, 

And  yield  the  other  up  to  dire  disaster, 

By  merely  human  justice  thus  outdone ! 

Vainly  we  weep  and  wrestle  with  our  sorrow  — 

We  cannot  see  his  roads,  they  lie  so  broad: 


66 


GUENDOLEN 


But  his  eternal  day  knows  no  to-morrow, 

And  life  and  death  are  all  the  same  with  God. 


GUENDOLEN 

She  is  so  fair,  I thought,  so  dear  and  fair! 
Maidenly  beautiful  from  head  to  feet, 

With  pensive  profile  delicate  and  sweet, 

And  Titian’s  color  in  her  sunny  hair. 

So  fair,  I thought,  rejoicing  even  to  note 
The  little  flexible,  transparent  wrist, 

The  purple  of  the  gold- clasped  amethyst 
That  glittered  at  her  white  and  slender  throat; 

The  tiny  ear,  curled  like  a rosy  shell; 

The  gentle  splendor  of  the  wide  brown  eyes, 
Deep,  lustrous,  tender,  clear  as  morning  skies; 
The  full,  sad  lips,  — the  voice  that  like  a hell 

Bang  thrilling  with  a music  sweet  and  wild, 

High,  airy  - pure  as  fluting  of  the  fays, 

Or  bird-notes  in  the  early  summer  days, 

And  joyous  as  the  laughter  of  a child. 

Dearest,  has  Heaven  aught  to  give  thee  more  ? 

I thought,  the  while  I watched  her  changing  face, 


THE  WATCH  OF  BOON  ISLAND 


67 


Heard  her  fine  tones,  and  marked  her  gestures* 
grace,  — 

Yea,  one  more  gift  is  left,  all  gifts  before. 

We  go  our  separate  ways  on  earth,  and  pain, 

God’s  shaping  chisel,  waits  us  as  the  rest, 

With  nobler  charm  thy  beauty  to  invest, 

And  make  thee  lovelier  ere  we  meet  again. 


THE  WATCH  OF  BOON  ISLAND 

They  crossed  the  lonely  and  lamenting  sea; 

Its  moaning  seemed  hut  singing.  “Wilt  thou 
dare,  ” 

He  asked  her,  “ brave  the  loneliness  with  me  ? ” 
“What  loneliness,”  she  said,  “if  thou  art  there?” 

Afar  and  cold  on  the  horizon’s  rim 

Loomed  the  tall  lighthouse,  like  a ghostly  sign ; 
They  sighed  not  as  the  shore  behind  grew  dim, 

A rose  of  joy  they  bore  across  the  brine. 

They  gained  the  barren  rock,  and  made  their  home 
Among  the  wild  waves  and  the  sea-birds  wild; 

The  wintry  winds  blew  fierce  across  the  foam, 

But  in  each  other’s  eyes  they  looked  and  smiled. 


68 


THE  WATCH  OF  BOON  ISLAND 


Aloft  the  lighthouse  sent  its  warnings  wide, 

Fed  by  their  faithful  hands,  and  ships  in  sight 

With  joy  beheld  it,  and  on  land  men  cried, 

“ Look,  clear  and  steady  burns  Boon  Island  light ! 99 

And,  while  they  trimmed  the  lamp  with  busy  hands, 

“ Shine  far  and  through  the  dark,  sweet  light ! 99 
they  cried; 

“Bring  safely  back  the  sailors  from  all  lands 

To  waiting  love,  — wife,  mother,  sister,  bride ! ” 

No  tempest  shook  their  calm,  though  many  a storm 
Tore  the  vexed  ocean  into  furious  spray; 

No  chill  could  find  them  in  their  Eden  warm, 

And  gently  Time  lapsed  onward  day  by  day. 

Said  I no  chill  could  find  them  ? There  is  one 
Whose  awful  footfalls  everywhere  are  known, 

With  echoing  sobs,  who  chills  the  summer  sun, 

And  turns  the  happy  heart  of  youth  to  stone; 

Inexorable  Death,  a silent  guest 

At  every  hearth,  before  whose  footsteps  flee 

All  joys,  who  rules  the  earth,  and,  without  rest, 
Koams  the  vast  shuddering  spaces  of  the  sea. 

Death  found  them;  turned  his  face  and  passed  her  by, 
But  laid  a finger  on  her  lover’s  lips, 


THE  WATCH  OF  BOON  ISLAND 


69 


And  there  was  silence.  Then  the  storm  ran  high, 
And  tossed  and  troubled  sore  the  distant  ships. 

Nay,  who  shall  speak  the  terrors  of  the  night, 

The  speechless  sorrow,  the  supreme  despair  ? 

Still  like  a ghost  she  trimmed  the  waning  light, 
Dragging  her  slow  weight  up  the  winding  stair. 

With  more  than  oil  the  saving  lamp  she  fed, 

While  lashed  to  madness  the  wild  sea  she  heard. 

She  kept  her  awful  vigil  with  the  dead, 

And  God’s  sweet  pity  still  she  ministered. 

0 sailors,  hailing  loud  the  cheerful  beam, 

Piercing  so  far  the  tumult  of  the  dark, 

A radiant  star  of  hope,  you  could  not  dream 
What  misery  there  sat  cherishing  that  spark ! 

Three  times  the  night,  too  terrible  to  bear, 
Descended,  shrouded  in  the  storm.  At  last 

The  sun  rose  clear  and  still  on  her  despair, 

And  all  her  striving  to  the  winds  she  cast, 

And  bowed  her  head  and  let  the  light  die  out, 

For  the  wide  sea  lay  calm  as  her  dead  love. 

When  evening  fell,  from  the  far  land,  in  doubt, 
Vainly  to  find  that  faithful  star  men  strove. 


70  BEETHOVEN 

Sailors  and  landsmen  look,  and  women's  eyes, 

For  pity  ready,  search  in  vain  the  night, 

And  wondering  neighbor  unto  neighbor  cries, 

“Now  what,  think  you,  can  ail  Boon  Island  light? 

Out  from  the  coast  toward  her  high  tower  they  sailed 
They  found  her  watching,  silent,  by  her  dead, 

A shadowy  woman,  who  nor  wept,  nor  wailed, 

But  answered  what  they  spake,  till  all  was  said. 

They  bore  the  dead  and  living  both  away. 

With  anguish  time  seemed  powerless  to  destroy 
She  turned,  and  backward  gazed  across  the  bay,  — 
Lost  in  the  sad  sea  lay  her  rose  of  joy. 


BEETHOVEN 

i 

O sovereign  Master!  stern  and  splendid  power, 
That  calmly  dost  both  Time  and  Death  defy ; 
Lofty  and  lone  as  mountain  peaks  that  tower, 
Leading  our  thoughts  up  to  the  eternal  sky: 
Keeper  of  some  divine,  mysterious  key, 

Baising  us  far  above  all  human  care, 

Unlocking  awful  gates  of  harmony 

To  let  heaven's  light  in  on  the  world's  despair; 
Smiter  of  solemn  chords  that  still  command 


BEETHOVEN 


71 


Echoes  in  souls  that  suffer  and  aspire, 

In  the  great  moment  while  we  hold  thy  hand, 
Baptized  with  pain  and  rapture,  tears  and  fire, 
God  lifts  our  saddened  foreheads  from  the  dust, 
The  everlasting  God,  in  whom  we  trust ! 

n 

0 stateliest!  who  shall  speak  thy  praise,  who  find 
A fitting  word  to  utter  before  thee  ? 

Thou  lonely  splendor,  thou  consummate  mind, 
Who  marshalest  thy  hosts  in  majesty; 

Thy  shadowy  armies  of  resistless  thought, 

Thy  subtile  forces  drawn  from  Nature’s  heart, 
Thy  solemn  breathing,  mighty  music,  Wrought 
Of  life  and  death  — a miracle  thou  art ! 

The  restless  tides  of  human  life  that  swing 
In  stormy  currents,  thou  dost  touch  and  sway; 
Deep  tones  within  us  answer,  shuddering, 

At  thy  resounding  voice  — we  cast  away 
All  our  unworthiness,  made  strong  by  thee, 

Thou  great  uplif ter  of  humanity ! 

hi 

And  was  it  thus  the  master  looked,  think  you  ? 

Is  this  the  painter’s  fancy?  Who  can  tell! 
These  strong  and  noble  outlines  should  be  true: 
On  the  broad  brow  such  majesty  should  dwell. 


72 


MOZART 


Yea,  and  these  deep,  indomitable  eyes 
Are  surely  his.  Lo,  the  imperial  will 
In  every  feature ! Mighty  purpose  lies 
About  the  shut  mouth,  resolute  and  still. 

Observe  the  head’s  pathetic  attitude, 

Bent  forward,  listening,  — he  that  might  not  hear ! 
Ah,  could  the  world’s  adoring  gratitude, 

So  late  to  come,  have  made  his  life  less  drear ! 
Hearest  thou,  now,  great  soul  beyond  our  ken, 

Men’s  reverent  voices  answering  thee,  “Amen” ? 


MOZABT 

Most  beautiful  among  the  helpers  thou! 

All  heaven’s  fresh  air  and  sunshine  at  thy  voice 
Mood  with  refreshment  many  a weary  brow, 

And  sad  souls  thrill  with  courage  and  rejoice 
To  hear  God’s  gospel  of  pure  gladness  sound 
So  sure  and  clear  in  this  bewildered  world, 

Till  the  sick  vapors  that  our  sense  confound 
By  cheerful  winds  are  into  nothing  whirled. 

O matchless  melody ! O perfect  art ! 

0 lovely,  lofty  voice,  unfaltering ! 

O strong  and  radiant  and  divine  Mozart, 

Among  earth’s  benefactors  crowned  a king! 
Loved  shalt  thou  be  while  time  may  yet  endure, 
Spirit  of  health,  sweet,  sound,  and  wise,  and  pure. 


SCHUBERT 


73 


SCHUBERT 

At  the  open  window  I lean ; 

Flowers  in  the  garden  without 
Faint  in  the  heat  and  the  drought; 
What  does  the  music  mean  1 

For  here,  from  the  cold  keys  within, 

Is  a tempest  of  melody  drawn; 

Doubts,  passionate  questions,  the  dawn 
Of  high  hope,  and  a triumph  to  win; 

While  out  in  the  garden,  blood-red 
The  poppy  droops,  faint  in  the  heat 
Of  the  noon,  and  the  sea-wind  so  sweet 
Caresses  its  delicate  head. 

And  still  the  strong  music  goes  on 

With  its  storming  of  beautiful  heights, 
With  its  sorrow  that  heaven  requites, 
And  the  victory  fought  for  is  won ! 

High  with  thy  gift  didst  thou  reach, 
Schubert,  whose  genius  superb 
Nothing  could  check  or  could  curb: 
Thou  liftest  the  heart  with  thy  speech! 


74 


CHOPIN 


CHOPIN 

Calm  is  the  close  of  the  day, 

All  things  are  quiet  and  blest; 

Low  in  the  darkening  west 
The  young  moon  sinks  slowly  away. 

Without,  in  the  twilight,  I dream: 

Within  it  is  cheerful  and  bright 
With  faces  that  bloom  in  the  light, 

And  the  cold  keys  that  silently  gleam. 

Then  a magical  touch  draws  near, 

And  a voice  like  a call  of  delight 
Cleaves  the  calm  of  the  beautiful  night, 
And  I turn  from  my  musing  to  hear. 

Lo!  the  movement  too  wondrous  to  name! 
Agitation  and  rapture,  the  press 
As  of  myriad  waves  that  caress, 

And  break  into  vanishing  flame. 

Ah!  but  the  exquisite  strain, 

Sinking  to  pathos  so  sweet! 

Is  life  then  a lie  and  a cheat? 

Hark  to  the  hopeless  refrain! 


THE  PIMPERNEL 


75 


Comes  a shock  like  the  voice  of  a soul 
Lost  to  good,  to  all  beauty  and  joy, 

Led  alone  by  the  powers  that  destroy, 
And  fighting  with  fiends  for  control. 

Drops  a chord  like  the  grave's  first  clod. 
Then  again  toss  the  waves  of  caprice, 
Wild,  delicate,  sweet,  with  no  peace, 

No  health,  and  no  yielding  to  God. 

0 Siren,  that  charmest  the  air 

With  this  potent  and  passionate  spell, 

Sad  as  songs  of  the  angels  that  fell, 

Thou  leadest  alone  to  despair! 

What  troubles  the  night?  It  grows  chill  — 
Let  the  weird,  wild  music  be; 

Fronts  us  the  infinite  sea 
And  Nature  is  holy  and  still. 


THE  PIMPERNEL 

She  walks  beside  the  silent  shore, 

The  tide  is  high,  the  breeze  is  still; 
No  ripple  breaks  the  ocean  floor, 

The  sunshine  sleeps  upon  the  hill. 


76 


THE  PIMPERNEL 


The  turf  is  warm  beneath  her  feet, 

Bordering  the  beach  of  stone  and  shell, 

And  thick  about  her  path  the  sweet 
Bed  blossoms  of  the  pimpernel. 

“Oh,  sleep  not  yet,  my  flower!”  she  cries, 
“Nor  prophesy  of  storm  to  come; 

Tell  me  that  under  steadfast  skies 

Fair  winds  shall  bring  my  lover  home.” 

She  stoops  to  gather  flower  and  shell, 

She  sits,  and,  smiling,  studies  each; 

She  hears  the  full  tide  rise  and  swell, 

And  whisper  softly  on  the  beach. 

Waking,  she  dreams  a golden  dream, 
Bemembering  with  what  still  delight, 

To  watch  the  sunset’s  fading  gleam, 

Here  by  the  waves  they  stood  last  night. 

She  leans  on  that  encircling  arm, 

Divinely  strong  with  power  to  draw 

Her  nature,  as  the  moon  doth  charm 
The  swaying  sea  with  heavenly  law. 

All  lost  in  bliss  the  moments  glide; 

She  feels  his  whisper,  his  caress ; 

The  murmur  of  the  mustering  tide 
Brings  her  no  presage  of  distress. 


THE  PIMPERNEL 


77 


What  breaks  her  dream  ? She  lifts  her  eyes 
Keluctant  to  destroy  the  spell ; 

The  color  from  her  bright  cheek  dies,  — 
Close  folded  is  the  pimpernel. 

With  rapid  glance  she  scans  the  sky; 

Bises  a sudden  wind,  and  grows, 

And  charged  with  storm  the  cloud-heaps  lie. 
Well  may  the  scarlet  blossoms  close ! 

A touch,  and  bliss  is  turned  to  bale ! 

Life  only  keeps  the  sense  of  pain; 

The  world  holds  naught  save  one  white  sail 
Flying  before  the  wind  and  rain. 

Broken  upon  the  wheel  of  fear 

She  wears  the  storm- vexed  hour  away; 
And  now  in  gold  and  fire  draws  near 
The  sunset  of  her  troubled  day. 

But  to  her  sky  is  yet  denied 

The  sun  that  lights  the  world  for  her; 

She  sweeps  the  rose-flushed  ocean  wide 
With  eager  eyes  the  quick  tears  blur; 

And  lonely,  lonely  all  the  space 
Stretches,  with  never  sign  of  sail, 

And  sadder  grows  her  wistful  face, 

And  all  the  sunset  splendors  fail. 


78 


BY  THE  DEAD 


And  cold  and  pale,  in  still  despair, 

With  heavier  grief  than  tongue  can  tell, 

She  sinks,  — upon  her  lips  a prayer, 

Her  cheek  against  the  pimpernel. 

Bright  blossoms  wet  with  showery  tears 
On  her  shut  eyes  their  droplets  shed. 

Only  the  wakened  waves  she  hears, 

That,  singing,  drown  his  rapid  tread. 

“Sweet,  I am  here! 99  Joy’s  gates  swing  wide, 
And  heaven  is  theirs,  and  all  is  well, 

And  left  beside  the  ebbing  tide, 

Forgotten,  is  the  pimpernel. 


BY  THE  DEAD 

O Poverty  ! till  now  I never  knew 

The  meaning  of  the  word ! What  lack  is  here ! 

0 pale  mask  of  a soul  great,  good,  and  true ! 

0 mocking  semblance  stretched  upon  a bier ! 

Each  atom  of  this  devastated  face 

Was  so  instinct  with  power,  with  warmth  and 
light; 

What  desert  is  so  desolate!  No  grace 

Is  left,  no  gleam,  no  change,  no  day,  no  night. 


BY  THE  DEAD 


79 


Where  is  the  key  that  locked  these  gates  of  speech, 
Once  beautiful,  where  thought  stood  sentinel, 

Where  sweetness  sat,  where  wisdom  passed,  to  teach 
Our  weakness  strength,  our  homage  to  compel? 

Despoiled  at  last,  and  waste  and  barren  lies 

This  once  so  rich  domain.  Where  lives  and  moves, 

In  what  new  world,  the  splendor  of  these  eyes 
That  dauntless  lightened  like  imperial  Jove’s? 

Annihilated,  do  you  answer  me  ? 

Blown  out  and  vanished  like  a candle  flame? 

Is  nothing  left  but  this  pale  effigy, 

This  silence  drear,  this  dread  without  a name? 

Has  it  been  all  in  vain,  our  love  and  pride, 

This  yearning  love  that  still  pursues  our  friend 

Into  the  awful  dark,  unsatisfied, 

Bereft,  and  wrung  with  pain  ? Is  this  the  end  ? 

Would  God  so  mock  us?  To  our  human  sense 
No  answer  reaches  through  the  doubtful  air; 

Yet  with  a living  hope,  profound,  intense, 

Our  tortured  souls  rebel  against  despair; 

As  bowing  to  the  bitter  fate  we  go 

Drooping  and  dumb  as  if  beneath  a curse; 

But  does  not  pitying  Heaven  answer  “ No ! ” 

With  all  the  voices  of  the  universe  ? 


80 


FOOTPRINTS  IN  THE  SAND 


FOOTPKINTS  IN  THE  SAND 

Lazily,  through  the  warm  gray  afternoon, 

We  sailed  toward  the  land; 

Over  the  long  sweep  of  the  billows,  soon, 

We  saw  on  either  hand 

Peninsula  and  cape  and  silver  beach 
Unfold  before  our  eyes, 

Lighthouse  and  roof  and  spire  and  wooded  reach 
Grew  clear  beyond  surmise. 

Behind  us  lay  the  islands  that  we  loved, 

Touched  by  a wandering  gleam, 

Melting  in  distance,  where  the  white  sails  moved 
Softly  as  in  a dream. 

Drifting  past  buoy  and  scarlet  beacon  slow, 

We  gained  the  coast  at  last, 

And  up  the  harbor,  where  no  wind  did  blow, 

We  drew,  and  anchor  cast. 

The  lovely  land ! Green,  the  broad  fields  came  down 
Almost  into  the  sea; 

Nestled  the  quiet  homesteads  warm  and  brown, 
Embraced  by  many  a tree; 

The  gray  above  was  streaked  with  smiling  blue, 

The  snowy  gulls  sailed  o’er; 

The  shining  goldenrod  waved,  where  it  grew, 

A welcome  to  the  shore. 

Peaceful  the  whole,  and  sweet.  Beyond  the  sand 
The  dwelling-place  I sought 


FOOTPRINTS  IN  THE  SAND 


81 


Lay  in  the  sunshine.  All  the  scene  I scanned, 
Full  of  one  wistful  thought: 

Saw  any  eyes  our  vessel  near  the  shore 
From  vine-draped  windows  quaint? 

Waited  my  bright,  shy  darling  at  the  door, 

Fairer  than  words  could  paint  ? 

I did  not  see  her  gleaming  golden  head, 

Nor  hear  her  clear  voice  call; 

As  up  the  beach  I went  with  rapid  tread, 

Lonely  and  still  was  all. 

But  on  the  smooth  sand  printed,  far  and  near, 

I saw  her  footsteps  small; 

Here  had  she  loitered,  here  she  hastened,  here 
She  climbed  the  low  stone  wall. 

Such  pathos  in  those  little  footprints  spoke, 

I paused  and  lingered  long; 

Listening  as  far  away  the  billows  broke 
With  the  old  solemn  song. 

“The  infinite  hoary  spray  of  the  salt  sea,” 

In  yet  another  tide, 

Should  wash  away  these  traces  utterly; 

And  in  my  heart  I cried,  — 

“0  thou  Creator,  when  thy  waves  of  Time, 

The  infinite  hoary  spray 

That  sweeps  life  from  the  earth  at  dawn  and  prime, 
Have  swept  her  soul  away, 

How  shall  I know  it  is  not  even  as  these 
Light  footprints  in  the  sand, 


82 


FOOTPRINTS  IN  THE  SAND 


That  vanish  into  naught  ? For  no  man  sees 
Clearly  what  Thou  hast  planned.” 

And  sadly  musing,  up  the  slope  I pressed, 

And  sought  her  where  she  played, 

By  breeze  and  sunshine  flattered  and  caressed, 

A merry  little  maid. 

And  while  I clasped  her  close  and  held  her  fast, 
And  looked  into  her  face, 

Half  shy,  half  smiling,  wholly  glad  at  last 
To  rest  in  my  embrace, 

From  the  clear  heaven  of  her  innocent  eyes 
Leaped  Love  to  answer  me ; 

Divinely  through  the  mortal  shape  that  dies 
Shone  immortality ! 

What  the  winds  hinted,  what  the  awful  sky 
Held  in  its  keeping,  — all 
The  vast  sea’s  prophesying  suddenly 
Grew  clear  as  clarion  call. 

The  secret  nature  strives  to  speak,  yet  hides, 
Flashed  from  those  human  eyes 
To  slay  my  doubt : I felt  that  all  the  tides 
Of  death  and  change  might  rise 
And  devastate  the  world,  yet  I could  see 
This  steady  shining  spark 
Should  live  eternally,  could  never  be 
Lost  in  the  unfathomed  dark! 

And  when  beneath  a threatening  sunset  sky 
We  trimmed  our  sails  and  turned 


A BROKEN  LILY 


83 


Seaward  again,  with  many  a sweet  good-by, 

A quiet  gladness  burned 
Within  me,  as  I watched  her  tiny  form 
Go  dancing  up  and  down, 

Light  as  a sandpiper  before  the  storm, 

Upon  the  beach-edge  brown, 

Waving  her  little  kerchief  to  and  fro 
Till  we  were  out  of  sight, 

Sped  by  a wild  wind  that  began  to  blow 
Out  of  the  troubled  night ; 

And  while  we  tossed  upon  an  angry  sea, 

And  round  the  lightning  ran, 

And  muttering  thunder  rolled  incessantly 
As  the  black  storm  began, 

I knew  the  fair  and  peaceful  landscape  lay 
Safe  hidden  in  the  gloom, 

Waiting  the  glad  returning  of  the  day 
To  smile  again  and  bloom; 

And  sure  as  that  to-morrow’s  sun  would  rise, 
And  day  again  would  be, 

Shone  the  sweet  promise  of  those  childish  eyes 
Wherein  God  answered  me. 

A BKOKEN  LILY 

O Lily,  dropped  upon  the  gray  sea-sand, 

What  time  my  fair  love  through  the  morning  land 
Led  the  rejoicing  children,  singing  all 


84 


MAY  MORNING 


In  happy  chorus,  to  their  festival, 

Under  green  trees  the  flowery  fields  among; 

Now,  when  the  noon  sun  blazes  o’er  the  sea, 
And  echo  tells  not  of  the  song  they  sung, 

And  all  thy  silver  splendor  silently 
Thou  yieldest  to  the  salt  and  bitter  tide, 

I find  thee,  and,  remembering  on  whose  breast 
Thy  day  began  in  thy  fresh  beauty’s  pride, 

Though  of  thy  bloom  and  fragrance  dispossessed, 
Thou  art  to  me  than  all  June’s  flowers  more  sweet, 
Fairer  than  Aphrodite’s  foam-kissed  feet! 


MAY  MOKNING 

Warm,  wild,  rainy  wind,  blowing  fitfully, 

Stirring  dreamy  breakers  on  the  slumberous  May  sea, 

What  shall  fail  to  answer  thee?  What  thing  shall 
withstand 

The  spell  of  thine  enchantment,  flowing  over  sea  and 
land? 

All  along  the  swamp-edge  in  the  rain  I go; 

All  about  my  head  thou  the  loosened  locks  dost  blow; 

Like  the  German  goose- girl  in  the  fairy  tale, 

I watch  across  the  shining  pool  my  flock  of  ducks  that 
sail. 


MAY  MORNING 


85 


Eedly  gleam  the  rose- haws,  dripping  with  the  wet, 

Fruit  of  sober  autumn,  glowing  crimson  yet ; 

Slender  swords  of  iris  leaves  cut  the  water  clear, 

And  light  green  creeps  the  tender  grass,  thick  spread- 
ing far  and  near. 

Every  last  year’s  stalk  is  set  with  brown  or  golden 
studs ; 

All  the  boughs  of  bayberry  are  thick  with  scented 
buds; 

Islanded  in  turfy  velvet,  where  the  ferns  uncurl, 

Lo!  the  large  white  duck’s  egg  glimmers  like  a pearl! 

Softly  sing  the  billows,  rushing,  whispering  low ; 

Freshly,  oh!  deliciously,  the  warm,  wild  wind  doth 
blow! 

Plaintive  bleat  of  new- washed  lambs  comes  faint  from 
far  away; 

And  clearly  cry  the  little  birds,  alert  and  blithe  and 
gay. 

0 happy,  happy  morning ! 0 dear,  familiar  place ! 

0 warm,  sweet  tears  of  Heaven,  fast  falling  on  my 
face! 

0 well-remembered,  rainy  wind,  blow  all  my  care 
away, 

That  I may  be  a child  again  this  blissful  morn  of  May. 


86 


ALL  *S  WELL 


ALL  ’S  WELL 

What  dost  thou  here,  young  wife,  by  the  water-side, 
Gathering  crimson  dulse 

Know’st  thou  not  that  the  cloud  in  the  west  glooms 
wide, 

And  the  wind  has  a hurrying  pulse  ? 

Peaceful  the  eastern  waters  before  thee  spread, 

And  the  cliffs  rise  high  behind, 

While  thou  gatherest  sea- weeds,  green  and  brown  and 
red, 

To  the  coming  trouble  blind. 

She  lifts  her  eyes  to  the  top  of  the  granite  crags, 

And  the  color  ebbs  from  her  cheek, 

Swift  vapors  skurry  the  black  squall's  tattered  flags, 
And  she  hears  the  gray  gull  shriek. 

And  like  a blow  is  the  thought  of  the  little  boat 
By  this  on  its  homeward  way, 

A tiny  skiff,  like  a cockle-shell  afloat 
In  the  tempest- threatened  bay; 

With  husband  and  brother  who  sailed  away  to  the 
town 

When  fair  shone  the  morning  sun, 


ALL  ’S  WELL 


87 


To  tarry  but  till  the  tide  in  the  stream  turned  down, 
Then  seaward  again  to  run. 

Homeward  she  flies;  the  land-breeze  strikes  her  cold; 
A terror  is  in  the  sky; 

Her  little  babe  with  his  tumbled  hair  of  gold 
In  her  mother’s  arms  doth  lie. 

She  catches  him  up  with  a breathless,  questioning  cry: 

“ 0 mother,  speak ! Are  they  near  ? ” 

“Dear,  almost  home.  At  the  western  window  high 
Thy  father  watches  in  fear.” 

She  climbs  the  stair:  “O  father,  must  they  be  lost? 99 
He  answers  never  a word; 

Through  the  glass  he  watches  the  line  the  squall  has 
crossed 

As  if  no  sound  he  heard. 

And  the  Day  of  Doom  seems  come  in  the  angry  sky, 
And  a low  roar  fills  the  air; 

In  an  awful  stillness  the  dead-black  waters  lie, 

And  the  rocks  gleam  ghastly  and  bare. 

Is  it  a snow-white  gull’s  wing  fluttering  there, 

In  the  midst  of  that  hush  of  dread? 

Ah,  no,  ’t  is  the  narrow  strip  of  canvas  they  dare 
In  the  face  of  the  storm  to  spread. 


88  ALL  ’S  WELL 

A moment  more  and  all  the  furies  are  loose, 

The  coast  line  is  blotted  out, 

The  skiff  is  gone,  the  rain-cloud  pours  its  sluice, 

And  she  hears  her  father  shout, 

“Down  with  your  sail!  as  if  through  the  tumult 
wild,  ” 

And  the  distance,  his  voice  might  reach; 

And,  stunned,  she  clasps  still  closer  her  rosy  child, 
Bereft  of  the  power  of  speech. 

But  her  heart  cries  low,  as  writhing  it  lies  on  the 
rack, 

“ Sweet,  art  thou  fatherless  ? ” 

And  swift  to  her  mother  she  carries  the  little  one 
back, 

Where  she  waits  in  her  sore  distress. 

Then  into  the  heart  of  the  storm  she  rushes  forth; 

Like  leaden  bullets  the  rain 
Beats  hard  in  her  face,  and  the  hurricane  from  the 
north 

Would  drive  her  back  again. 

It  splits  the  shingles  off  the  roof  like  a wedge, 

It  lashes  her  clothes  and  her  hair, 

But  slowly  she  fights  her  way  to  the  western  ledge, 
With  the  strength  of  her  despair. 


ALL  S WELL 


89 


Through  the  flying  spray,  through  the  rain-cloud’s 
shattered  stream, 

What  shapes  in  the  distance  grope, 

Like  figures  that  haunt  the  shore  of  a dreadful  dream  ? 
She  is  wild  with  a desperate  hope. 

Have  pity,  merciful  Heaven ! Can  it  be  ? 

Is  it  no  vision  that  mocks  ? 

From  billow  to  billow  the  headlong  plunging  sea 
Has  tossed  them  high  on  the  rocks; 

And  the  hollow  skiff  like  a child’s  toy  lies  on  the 
ledge 

This  side  of  the  roaring  foam, 

And  up  from  the  valley  of  death,  from  the  grave’s 
drear  edge, 

Like  ghosts  of  men  they  come ! 

Oh  sweetly,  sweetly  shines  the  sinking  sun, 

And  the  storm  is  swept  away; 

Piled  high  in  the  east  are  the  cloud-heaps  purple  and 
dun, 

And  peacefully  dies  the  day. 

But  a sweeter  peace  falls  soft  on  the  grateful  souls 
In  the  lonely  isle  that  dwell, 

And  the  whisper  and  rush  of  every  wave  that  rolls 
Seem  murmuring,  “All  is  well.” 


90 


THE  SECRET 


THE  SECBET 

“Oh  what  saw  you,  gathering  flowers  so  early  this 
May  morn  ? ” 

“I  saw  a shining  blackbird  loud  whistling  on  a thorn; 

I saw  the  mottled  plover  from  the  swamp-edge  fly 
away; 

I heard  the  blithe  song-sparrows  who  welcomed  the 
bright  day; 

I heard  the  curlew  calling,  oh,  sweet,  so  sweet  and  far ! 

I ^aw  the  white  gull  twinkling  in  the  blue  sky  like  a 
star.  ” 

“And  is  the  blackbird  whistling  yet,  and  does  the 
curlew  call, 

And  should  I find  your  rapture  if  I saw  and  heard  it 
all? 

Life  seems  to  me  so  hard  to  bear,  perplexed  with 
change  and  loss, 

Heavy  with  pain,  and  weary  still  with  care’s  perpetual 
cross, 

Why  should  the  white  gull’s  twinkling  wings,  half 
lost  amid  the  blue, 

Bring  any  joy?  Yet  care  and  pain  weigh  just  as 
much  on  you, 

And  you  come  back  and  look  at  me  with  such  joy- 
beaming eyes 


THE  SECRET 


91 


An  angel  might  have  been  your  guide  through  fields 
of  Paradise ! 

What  is  the  secret  Nature  keeps  to  whisper  in  your  ear 

That  sends  the  swift  blood  pulsing  warm  with  such 
immortal  cheer, 

And  makes  your  eyes  shine  like  the  morn,  and  rings 
sweet  in  your  voice, 

Like  some  clear,  distant  trumpet  sound  that  bids  the 
world  rejoice?  ” 

“Her  secret?  Nay,  she  speaks  to  me  no  word  you 
might  not  hear. 

Her  voice  is  ever  ready  and  her  meaning  ever  clear: 

But  I love  her  with  such  passion  that  her  lightest  ges- 
ture seems 

Divinely  beautiful  — she  fills  my  life  with  golden 
dreams. 

I tremble  in  her  presence,  to  her  every  touch  and  tone; 

I answer  to  her  whisper  — love  has  to  worship  grown. 

She  turns  her  solemn  face  to  me,  and  lays  within  my 
hand 

The  key  that  puts  her  endless  wealth  for  aye  at  my 
command ; 

And  so,  because  I worship  her,  her  benedictions  rest 

Upon  me,  and  she  folds  me  safe  and  warm  upon  her 
breast, 

And  in  her  sweet  and  awful  eyes  I gaze  till  I forget 

The  troubles  that  perplex  our  days,  the  tumult  and 
the  fret. 


92 


SEASIDE  GOLDENROD 


Oh,  would  you  learn  the  word  of  power  that  lifts,  all 
care  above, 

The  sad  soul  up  to  Nature’s  heart?  I answer,  It  is 
Love!” 


SEASIDE  GOLDENROD 

Graceful,  tossing  plume  of  glowing  gold, 
Waving  lonely  on  the  rocky  ledge; 
Leaning  seaward,  lovely  to  behold, 

Clinging  to  the  high  cliff’s  ragged  edge; 

Burning  in  the  pure  September  sky, 

Spike  of  gold  against  the  stainless  blue, 

Do  you  watch  the  vessels  drifting  by  ? 

Does  the  quiet  day  seem  long  to  you  ? 

Up  to  you  I climb,  0 perfect  shape! 

Poised  so  lightly  ’twixt  the  sky  and  sea; 
Looking  out  o’er  headland,  crag,  and  cape, 
O’er  the  ocean’s  vague  immensity. 

Up  to  you  my  human  thought  I bring, 

Sit  me  down  your  peaceful  watch  to  share. 
Do  you  hear  the  waves  below  us  sing  ? 

Feel  you  the  soft  fanning  of  the  air  ? 


MARCH 


93 


How  much  of  life’s  rapture  is  your  right? 

In  earth’s  joy  what  may  your  portion  he? 
Rocked  by  breezes,  touched  by  tender  light, 
Fed  by  dews  and  sung  to  by  the  sea! 

Something  of  delight  and  of  content 

Must  be  yours,  however  vaguely  known; 
And  your  grace  is  mutely  eloquent, 

And  your  beauty  makes  the  rock  a throne. 

Matters  not  to  you,  0 golden  flower ! 

That  such  eyes  of  worship  watch  you  sway ; 
But  you  make  more  sweet  the  dreamful  hour 
And  you  crown  for  me  the  tranquil  day. 


MARCH 

The  keen  north  wind  pipes  loud; 
Swift  scuds  the  flying  cloud; 
Light  lies  the  new  fallen  snow; 
The  ice-clad  eaves  drip  slow, 

For  glad  Spring  has  begun, 

And  to  the  ardent  sun 
The  earth,  long  time  so  bleak, 
Turns  a frost-bitten  cheek. 
Through  the  clear  sky  of  March, 
Blue  to  the  topmost  arch, 


94 


MARCH 


Swept  by  the  New  Year’s  gales, 
The  crow,  harsh- clamoring,  sails. 
By  the  swift  river’s  flood 
The  willow’s  golden  blood 
Mounts  to  the  highest  spray, 
More  vivid  day  by  day; 

And  fast  the  maples  now 
Crimson  through  every  bough, 
And  from  the  alder’s  crown 
Swing  the  long  catkins  brown. 
Gone  is  the  winter’s  pain; 
Though  sorrow  still  remain, 
Though  eyes  with  tears  be  wet, 
The  voice  of  our  regret 
We  hush,  to  hear  the  sweet 
Far  fall  of  summer’s  feet. 

The  Heavenly  Father  wise 
Looks  in  the  saddened  eyes 
Of  our  unworthiness, 

Yet  doth  He  cheer  and  bless. 
Doubt  and  Despair  are  dead; 
Hope  dares  to  raise  her  head, 
And  whispers  of  delight 
Fill  the  earth  day  and  night. 

The  snowdrops  by  the  door 
Lift  upward,  sweet  and  pure, 
Their  delicate  bells ; and  soon, 

In  the  calm  blaze  of  noon, 


THE  WHITE  ROVER 


95 


By  lowly  window-sills 
Will  laugh  the  daffodils! 

SONG 

The  clover  blossoms  kiss  her  feet, 

She  is  so  sweet, 

While  I,  who  may  not  kiss  her  hand, 

Bless  all  the  wild  flowers  in  the  land. 

Soft  sunshine  falls  across  her  breast, 

She  is  so  blest. 

I ’m  jealous  of  its  arms  of  gold, 

Oh  that  these  arms  her  form  might  fold! 

Gently  the  breezes  kiss  her  hair, 

She  is  so  fair. 

Let  flowers  and  sun  and  breeze  go  by, 

O dearest ! Love  me  or  I die. 

Oscar  Laighton 

THE  WHITE  ROYER 

They  called  the  little  schooner  the  White  Rover, 
When  they  lightly  launched  her  on  the  brimming 
tide; 

Stanch  and  trim  she  was  to  sail  the  broad  seas  over, 
And  with  cheers  they  spread  her  snowy  canvas  wide ; 


96 


THE  WHITE  HOVER 


And  a thing  of  beauty,  forth  she  fared  to  wrestle 
With  the  wild,  uncertain  ocean,  far  and  near, 

And  no  evil  thing  befell  the  graceful  vessel, 

And  she  sailed  in  storm  and  sunshine  many  a year. 

But  at  last  a rumor  grew  that  she  was  haunted; 

That  up  her  slender  masts  her  sails  had  flown 
Unhelped  by  human  hands,  as  if  enchanted, 

As  she  rocked  upon  her  moorings  all  alone. 

Howe’er  that  be,  one  day  in  winter  weather, 

When  the  bitter  north  was  raging  at  its  worst, 

And  wind  and  cold  vexed  the  roused  sea  together, 

Till  Dante’s  frozen  hell  seemed  less  accurst, 

Two  fishermen,  to  draw  their  trawls  essaying, 

Seized  by  the  hurricane  that  ploughed  the  bay, 

Were  swept  across  the  waste  ; and  hardly  weighing 
Death’s  chance,  the  Rover  reefed  and  bore  away 

To  save  them,  — reached  them,  shuddering  where  they 
waited 

Their  quick  destruction,  tossing  white  and  dumb, 
And  caught  them  from  perdition ; then,  belated, 

Strove  to  return  the  rough  way  she  had  come. 

But  there  was  no  returning ! Fierce  as  lightning 
The  eager  cold  grew  keener,  more  intense. 


THE  WHITE  ROYER 


97 


Across  her  homeward  track  the  billows,  whitening, 
In  crested  mountains  rolling,  drove  her  thence; 

Till  her  brave  crew,  benumbed,  gave  up  the  battle, 
Clad  in  a mail  of  ice  that  weighed  like  lead; 

They  heard  the  crusted  blocks  and  rigging  rattle, 
They  saw  the  sails  like  sheets  of  iron  spread. 

And  powerless  before  the  gale  they  drifted, 

Till  swiftly  dropped  the  black  and  hopeless  night. 

The  wild  tornado  never  lulled  nor  shifted, 

But  drove  them  toward  the  coast  upon  their  right, 

And  flung  the  frozen  schooner,  all  sail  standing, 

Stiff  as  an  iceberg  on  the  icy  shore; 

And  half  alive,  her  torpid  people,  landing, 

Crept  to  the  lighthouse,  and  were  safe  once  more. 

Then  what  befell  the  vessel,  standing  solemn 

Through  that  tremendous  night  of  cold  and  storm, 

Upon  the  frost-locked  land,  a frigid  column, 

Beneath  the  stars,  a silent,  glittering  form  ? 

None  ever  saw  her  more ! The  tide  upbore  her, 
Released  her  fastened  keel,  and  ere  the  day, 

Without  a guide,  and  all  the  world  before  her, 

The  sad,  forsaken  Rover  sailed  away. 


98 


THE  WHITE  ROYER 


But  sometimes,  when  in  summer  twilight  blending 
Sunset  and  moonrise  mingle  their  rich  light, 

Or  when  on  noonday  mists  the  sun  is  spending 
His  glory,  till  they  glimmer  thin  and  white, 

Upon  the  dim  horizon  melting,  gleaming, 

Slender,  ethereal,  like  a lovely  ghost 
Soft  looming,  in  the  hazy  distance  dreaming, 

Or  gliding  like  a film  along  the  coast, 

I seem  to  see  her  yet:  and  skippers  hoary, 

Sailors  and  fishermen,  will  still  relate 
Among  their  sea- worn  mates  the  simple  story 
Of  how  the  wandering  Rover  met  her  fate; 

And  shake  their  heads:  “Perhaps  the  tempest  wrecked 
her, 

But  snug  and  trim  and  tidy,  fore  and  aft, 

I ’ve  seen  the  vessel  since,  or  else  her  spectre, 

Sailing  as  never  yet  sailed  earthly  craft, 

Straight  in  the  wind’s  teeth;  and  with  steady  mo- 
tion 

Cleaving  a calm  as  if  it  blew  a gale ! 99 
And  they  are  sure  her  wraith  still  haunts  the  ocean, 
Mocking  the  sight  with  semblance  of  a sail. 


CONTRAST 


99 


CONTRAST 

The  day  is  bitter.  Through  the  hollow  sky 
Rolls  the  clear  sun,  inexorably  bright, 

Glares  on  the  shrinking  earth,  a lidless  eye, 

Shedding  no  warmth,  but  floods  of  blinding  light. 

The  hurricane  roars  loud.  The  facile  sea 

With  passionate  resentment  writhes  and  raves 
Beneath  its  maddening  whip,  and  furiously 
Responds  with  all  the  thunder  of  its  waves. 

The  iron  rock,  ice-locked,  snow-sheathed,  lies  still, 
The  centre  of  this  devastated  world, 

Beaten  and  lashed  by  wind  and  sea  at  will, 

Buried  in  spray  by  the  fierce  breakers  hurled. 

Cold,  raging  desolation ! Out  of  it, 

Swift-footed,  eager,  noiseless  as  the  light, 

Glides  my  adventurous  thought,  and  lo,  I sit 
With  Memnon  and  the  desert  in  my  sight. 

Silence  and  breathless  heat!  A torrid  land, 
Unbroken  to  the  vast  horizon’s  verge, 

Save  once,  where  from  the  waste  of  level  sand 
All  motionless  the  clustered  palms  emerge. 


100 


A FADED  GLOVE 


Hot  the  wide  earth  and  hot  the  blazing  sky, 

And  still  as  death,  unchanged  since  time  began. 

Far  in  the  shimmering  distance  silently 
Creeps  like  a snake  the  lessening  caravan. 

And  on  the  great  lips  of  the  statue  old 
Broods  silence,  and  no  zephyr  stirs  the  palm. 

Nature  forgets  her  tempests  and  her  cold, 

And  breathes  in  peace.  “There  is  no  joy  but 
calm.” 


A FADED  GLOVE 

My  little  granddaughter,  who  fain  would  know 
Why,  folded  close  in  scented  satin  fine, 

I keep  a relic  faded  long  ago, 

This  pearl-gray,  dainty,  withered  glove  of  mine, 

Listen:  I ’ll  tell  you.  It  is  fifty  years 
Since  the  fair  day  I laid  my  treasure  here. 

But  yesterday  to  me  the  time  appears; 

Ages  ago  to  you,  I know,  my  dear. 

Upon  this  palm,  now  withered  as  my  cheek, 

Love  laid  his  first  kiss,  doubting  and  afraid: 

Oh,  swift  and  strong  across  me  while  I speak 
Comes  memory  of  Love’s  might,  my  little  maid! 


A FADED  GLOVE 


101 


I yet  was  so  unconscious!  ’Twas  a night  — 

Some  festal  night;  my  sisters  were  above, 

Not  ready  quite;  but  I,  cloaked  all  in  white, 

Waited  below,  and,  fastening  my  glove, 

Looked  up  with  smiling  speech  to  him  who  stood 
Observing  me,  so  still  and  so  intent, 

I wondered  somewhat  at  his  quiet  mood, 

Till  it  flashed  on  me  what  the  silence  meant. 

What  sudden  fire  of  dawn  my  sky  o’erspread! 

What  low  melodious  thunder  broke  my  calm ! 

Could  I he  dreaming  that  this  glorious  head 
Was  bending  low  above  my  girlish  palm  ? 

His  majesty  of  mien  proclaimed  him  king; 

His  lowly  gesture  said,  “I  am  your  slave 

Beneath  my  feet  the  firm  earth  seemed  to  swing 
Unstable  as  storm- driven  wind  and  wave. 

Ah,  beautiful  and  terrible  and  sweet 

The  matchless  moment!  Was  it  life  or  death, 

Or  day  or  night  ? For  my  heart  ceased  to  beat, 

And  heaven  and  earth  changed  in  a single  breath. 

And,  like  a harp  some  hand  of  power  doth  smite 
To  sudden  harmony,  my  soul  awoke, 

And,  answering,  rose  to  match  his  spirit’s  height, 
While  not  a word  the  mystic  silence  broke. 


102 


A FADED  GLOVE 


JT  was  but  an  instant.  Down  the  echoing  stair 
Swept  voices,  laughter,  wafts  of  melody,  — 

My  sisters  three,  in  draperies  light  as  air; 

But  like  a dream  the  whole  world  seemed  to  me, 

As,  steadying  my  whirling  thoughts,  I strove 
To  grasp  a truth  so  wondrous,  *so  divine. 

I shut  this  hand,  this  little  tinted  glove, 

To  keep  its  secret  mine,  and  only  mine. 

And  like  an  empty  show  the  brilliant  hours 

Passed  by,  with  beauty,  music,  pleasure  thronged, 
Phantasmagoria  of  light  and  flowers; 

But  only  one  delight  to  me  belonged, 

One  thought,  one  wish,  one  hope,  one  joy,  one  fear, 
One  dizzy  rapture,  one  star  in  the  sky,  — 

The  solemn  sky  that  bent  to  bring  God  near: 

I would  have  been  content  that  night  to  die. 

Only  a touch  upon  this  little  glove, 

And,  lo,  the  lofty  marvel  which  it  wrought! 

You  wonder;  for  as  yet  you  know  not  love, 

Oh,  sweet  my  child,  my  lily  yet  unsought! 

The  glove  is  faded,  but  immortal  joy 

Lives  in  the  kiss;  its  memory  cannot  fade; 

And  when  Death’s  clasp  this  pale  hand  shall  destroy, 
The  sacred  glove  shall  in  my  grave  be  laid. 


PORTENT 


103 


PORTENT 

When  the  darkness  drew  away  at  the  dawning  of  the 
day, 

I heard  the  medricks  screaming  loud  and  shrill  across 
the  bay; 

And  I wondered  to  behold  all  the  sky  in  ruddy  gold, 

Plashing  into  fire  and  flame  where  the  clouds  like  bil- 
lows rolled. 

Red  the  sea  ran  east  and  west,  burning  broke  each 
tumbling  crest, 

Where  the  waves,  like  shattered  rubies,  leaped  and 
fell  and  could  not  rest; 

Every  rock  was  carmine-flushed,  every  sail  like  roses 
blushed, 

Plying  swift  before  the  wind  from  the  south  that 
roared  and  rushed. 

“Is  it  judgment  day  i ” I said,  gazing  out  o’er  billows 
red, 

Gazing  up  at  crimson  vapors,  crowding,  drifting  over- 
head, 

Listening  to  the  great  uproar  of  the  waters  on  the 
shore, 

To  the  wild  sad-crying  sea-birds,  buffeted  and  beaten 


sore. 


104 


PORTENT 


“Is  the  end  of  time  at  hand?  is  this  pageant,  strange 
and  grand, 

A portent  of  destruction  blazing  fierce  o’er  sea  and 
land?” 

Then  the  scarlet  ebbed,  and  slow,  sky  above  and  earth 
below, 

Drowned  in  melancholy  purple,  seemed  with  grief  to 
overflow. 

And  while  thus  I gazed,  the  day,  growing  stronger, 
turned  to  gray ; 

All  the  transitory  splendor  and  the  beauty  passed 
away; 

And  I recognized  the  sign  of  the  color  poured  like 
wine 

In  this  morn  of  late  October  as  from  clusters  of  the 
vine. 

’Twas  the  ripeness  of  the  year;  soon,  I knew,  must 
disappear 

All  the  warmth  and  light  and  happiness  that  made  the 
time  so  dear; 

And  again  our  souls  must  wait  while  the  bare  earth, 
desolate, 

Bore  in  patience  and  in  silence  all  the  winter’s  wrath 
and  hate. 


SONG 


105 


SONG 

Sing,  little  bird,  oh  sing ! 

How  sweet  thy  voice  and  clear! 

How  fine  the  airy  measures  ring, 

The  sad  old  world  to  cheer! 

Bloom,  little  flower,  oh  bloom! 

Thou  makest  glad  the  day; 

A scented  torch,  thou  dost  illume 
The  darkness  of  the  way. 

Dance,  little  child,  oh  dance ! 

While  sweet  the  small  birds  sing, 

And  flowers  bloom  fair,  and  every  glance 
Of  sunshine  tells  of  spring. 

Oh!  bloom,  and  sing,  and  smile, 

Child,  bird,  and  flower,  and  make 
The  sad  old  world  forget  awhile 
Its  sorrow  for  your  sake ! 


106 


RENUNCIATION 


BENUNCIATION 

Like  scattered  flowers  blown  all  about  the  bay, 

The  rosy  sails,  lit  with  the  sunrise,  shine; 

The  white  stars  in  the  brightness  fade  away; 

In  perfect  silence  dawns  the  day  divine. 

“Oh  bring  me  neither  gifts  of  good  or  ill, 

Delicious  day ! Let  only  peace  be  mine ! ” 

And  the  fair  hours,  advancing  calm  and  still, 

Passed  by  her  mute,  nor  brought  her  word  or  sign. 

But  when  the  glory  of  the  sunset  flame 

Held  all  the  world  in  triumph  brief  and  sweet, 

The  last  bright  hour,  with  faltering  footsteps,  came 
And  laid  a gift  august  before  her  feet. 

Yet  she  entreated,  “Peace!  Take  back  your  gift, 

0 golden  hour!  I am  content  to  be 

Lonely  as  yonder  fading  sails  that  drift 

’ Neath  saddened  skies  upon  the  silent  sea.” 

Fate  answered  her,  “ The  gods  may  not  recall 

Their  gifts,  once  given.  Be  wise,  therefore.  Ac- 
cept 

Their  bounty  gratefully;  for  not  to  all 

Such  largess  falls.  ” She  bowed  her  head  and  wept. 


SONG 


107 


She  turned  her  from  the  sunset’s  red  and  gold, 

She  faced  the  dim  East’s  waning  violet, 

She  saw  the  twilight  stealing  pale  and  cold, 

And  all  her  soul  was  wrung  with  her  regret. 

Pure,  powerful,  triumphant  music  shook 
The  listening  air  and  floated  up  the  sky; 

The  dust  and  ashes  of  her  life  she  took 
And  passed  the  gift  of  splendid  beauty  by. 

“But  oh,  must  storm  and  strife  be  mine,”  she  cried, 
“Forever?  Shall  I never  find  repose? 

Mocked  by  mirage  of  hope  and  still  defied 
And  buffeted  by  every  wind  that  blows ! ” 

From  farthest  distance  high  a clear  voice  rang, 
“Ashes  and  dust  shall  blossom  like  the  rose! 

Climb  thou  above  the  tempests,”  sweet  it  sang; 

“Patience!  ‘ On  every  height  there  lies  repose.’  ” 


SONG 

Oh  the  fragrance  of  the  air 

With  the  breathing  of  the  flowers ! 
Oh  the  isles  of  cloudlets  fair, 

Shining  after  balmy  showers ! 


108 


TWO  SONNETS 


Oh  the  freshly  rippling  notes ! 

Oh  the  warbling,  loud  and  long, 
From  a thousand  golden  throats ! 

Oh  the  south  wind’s  tender  song! 

Oh  the  mellow  dip  of  oars 

Through  the  dreamy  afternoon! 

Oh  the  waves  that  clasp  the  shores, 
Chanting  one  delicious  tune! 

Wears  the  warm,  enchanted  day 
To  the  last  of  its  rich  hours, 

While  my  heart,  in  the  sweet  May, 
Buds  and  blossoms  with  the  flowers. 


TWO  SONNETS 

Not  so ! You  stand  as  long  ago  a king 

Stood  on  the  seashore,  bidding  back  the  tide 
That  onward  rolled  resistless  still,  to  fling 
Its  awful  volume  landward,  wild  and  wide. 
And  just  as  impotent  is  your  command 
To  stem  the  tide  that  rises  in  my  soul. 

It  ebbs  not  at  the  lifting  of  your  hand, 

It  owns  no  curb,  it  yields  to  no  control; 
Mighty  it  is,  and  of  the  elements,  — 

Brother  of  winds  and  lightning,  cold  and  fire, 


DAYBREAK 


109 


Subtle  as  light,  as  steadfast  and  intense ; 

Sweet  as  the  music  of  Apollo’s  lyre. 

You  think  to  rule  the  oceans  ebb  and  flow 
With  that  soft  woman's  hand  ? Nay,  love,  not  so. 

And  like  the  lighthouse  on  the  rock  you  stand, 

And  pierce  the  distance  with  your  searching  eyes; 
Nor  do  you  heed  the  waves  that  storm  the  land 
And  endlessly  about  you  fall  and  rise, 

But  seek  the  ships  that  wander  night  and  day 
Within  the  dim  horizon’s  shadowy  ring; 

And  some  with  flashing  glance  you  warn  away, 

And  some  you  beckon  with  sweet  welcoming. 

So  steadfast  still  you  keep  your  lofty  place, 

Safe  from  the  tumult  of  the  restless  tide, 

Firm  as  the  rock  in  your  resisting  grace, 

And  strong  through  humble  duty,  not  through 
pride. 

While  I — I cast  my  life  before  your  feet, 

And  only  live  that  I may  love  you,  sweet ! 


DAYBREAK 

In  the  morning  twilight,  while  the  household  yet 
Slumbering  securely  day  and  night  forget, 

Lightly  o’er  the  threshold  I pass,  and  breathless  stand 
In  the  dream  of  beauty  that  rests  on  sea  and  land. 


110 


DAYBREAK 


Fresh  and  calm  and  dewy,  bathed  in  delicate  air, 

The  happy  earth  awakens  and  grows  of  day  aware. 
Sweetly  breaks  the  silence  some  bird’s  delicious  trill, 
And  from  the  southern  distance  a breeze  begins  to 
thrill. 

All  the  stars  have  faded,  and  the  low  large  moon 
O’er  the  western  water  will  have  vanished  soon. 
Crystal-clear  and  cloudless  the  awful  arch  is  bright, 

As  up  the  conscious  heaven  streams  the  growing  light. 

On  the  far  horizon  softly  sleeps  the  haze; 

O’er  the  ocean  spaces  steal  the  rosy  rays; 

Winds  and  waves  are  quiet,  only  far  away 
’Gainst  the  rock  a breaker  tosses  sudden  spray. 

Out  behind  the  headland  glides  the  coaster  slow, 

All  her  canvas  blushing  in  the  ruddy  glow; 

Where  the  steadfast  lighthouse  watches  day  and’ night, 
Beautiful  and  stately  she  passes  out  of  sight. 

Day  that  risest  splendid,  with  promise  so  divine, 

Mine  is  thy  perfect  gladness,  thy  loveliness  is  mine. 
Thou  touchest  with  thy  blessing  God’s  creatures  great 
and  small; 

None  shalt  thou  find  more  grateful  than  I among  them 
all. 


SONG 


111 


I turn  my  face  in  worship  to  the  glory  of  the  East. 

I thank  the  lavish  giver  of  my  life’s  perpetual  feast, 
And  fain  would  I he  worthy  to  partake  of  Nature’s 
bliss, 

And  share  with  her  a moment  so  exquisite  as  this ! 


SONG 

0 Love,  Love,  Love! 

Whether  it  rain  or  shine, 

Whether  the  clouds  frown  or  the  sky  is  clear, 
Whether  the  thunder  fill  the  air  with  fear, 
Whether  the  winter  rage  or  peace  is  here, 

If  only  thou  art  near, 

Then  are  all  days  divine. 

0 Love,  Love,  Love! 

Where  thou  art  not,  the  place 
Is  sad  to  me  as  death.  It  would  he  cold 
In  heaven  without  thee,  if  I might  not  hold 
Thy  hand  in  mine,  if  I might  not  behold 
The  beauty  manifold, 

The  wonder  of  thy  face. 


112 


THE  NESTLING  SWALLOWS 


THE  NESTLING  SWALLOWS 

The  summer  day  was  spoiled  with  fitful  storm; 

At  night  the  wind  died,  and  the  soft  rain  dropped 

With  lulling  murmur,  and  the  air  was  warm, 

And  all  the  tumult  and  the  trouble  stopped. 

We  sat  within  the  bright  and  quiet  room, 

Glowing  with  light  and  flowers  and  friendliness; 

And  faces  in  the  radiance  seemed  to  bloom, 

Touched  into  beauty  as  by  a caress. 

And  one  struck  music  from  the  ivory  keys,  — 
Beethoven’s  music;  and  the  awful  chords 

Upbore  us  like  the  waves  of  mighty  seas 

That  sing  aloud,  “All  glory  is  the  Lord’s!  ” 

And  the  great  sound  awoke  beneath  the  eaves 
The  nestling  swallows;  and  their  twittering  cry, 

With  the  light  touch  of  raindrops  on  the  leaves, 
Broke  into  the  grand  surging  melody. 

Across  its  deep,  tremendous  questioning, 

Its  solemn  acquiescence,  low  and  clear, 

The  rippling  notes  ran  sweet,  with  airy  ring 
Surprised,  inquiring,  but  devoid  of  fear; 


THE  NESTLING  SWALLOWS 


113 


Lapsing  to  silence  at  the  music’s  close, 

A dreamy  clamor,  a contented  stir. 

“It  made  no  discord,”  smiling,  as  he  rose, 

Said  the  great  master’s  great  interpreter. 

No  discord,  truly!  Ever  Nature  weaves 

Her  sunshine  with  her  shadow,  joy  with  pain: 

The  asking  thunder  through  high  heaven  that  cleaves 
Is  lost  in  the  low  ripple  of  the  rain. 

About  the  edges  of  the  dread  abyss 

The  innocent  blossoms  laugh  toward  the  sun; 
Questions  of  life  and  death,  of  bale  or  bliss, 

A thousand  tender  touches  overrun. 

Why  should  I chronicle  so  slight  a thing  ? 

But  such  things  light  up  life  like  wayside  flowers, 
And  memory,  like  a bird  with  folded  wing, 

Broods  with  still  joy  o’er  such  delicious  hours. 

Dear  unforgotten  time ! Fair  summer  night ! 

Thy  nestling  swallows  and  thy  dropping  rain, 

The  golden  music  and  the  faces  bright, 

Will  steal  with  constant  sweetness  back  again. 

A joy  to  keep  when  winter  darkness  comes; 

A living  sense  of  beauty  to  recall; 

A warm,  bright  thought,  when  bitter  cold  benumbs, 
To  make  me  glad  and  grateful.  That  is  all. 


114 


FLOWERS  IN  OCTOBER 


VESPER  SONG 

Lies  the  sunset  splendor  far  and  wide, 

On  the  golden  tide ! 

Drifting  slow  toward  yonder  evening  red, 
With  the  faint  stars  sparkling  overhead, 
Peacefully  we  glide. 

Sweet  is  rest:  the  summer  day  is  done, 

Gone  the  ardent  sun. 

All  is  still:  no  wind  of  twilight  blows; 

Shuts  the  evening  like  a crimson  rose; 

Night  comes  like  a nun. 

Lift  we  loving  voices,  pure  and  clear, 

To  the  Father’s  ear; 

Fragrant  as  the  flowers  the  thoughts  we  raise 
Up  to  heaven,  while  o’er  the  ocean  ways 
Draws  the  darkness  near. 


FLOWERS  IN  OCTOBER 

The  long  black  ledges  are  white  with  gulls, 

As  if  the  breakers  had  left  their  foam ; 

With  the  dying  daylight  the  wild  wind  lulls, 
And  the  scattered  fishing-boats  steer  for  home. 


FLOWERS  IN  OCTOBER 


115 


On  the  crag  I sit,  with  the  east  before. 

The  sun  behind  me  is  low  in  the  sky ; 

Warm  is  its  touch  on  the  rocky  shore ; 

Sad  the  vast  ocean  spaces  lie. 

The  cricket  is  hoarse  in  the  faded  grass ; 

The  low  bush  rustles  so  thin  and  sere; 

Swift  overhead  the  small  birds  pass, 

With  cries  that  are  lonely  and  sweet  and  clear. 

The  last  chill  asters  their  petals  fold 
And  gone  is  the  morning-glory's  bell, 

But  close  in  a loving  hand  I hold 
Long  sprays  of  the  scarlet  pimpernel, 

And  thick  at  my  feet  are  blossom  and  leaf, 

Blossoms  rich  red  as  the  robes  of  kings; 

Hardly  they  're  touched  by  the  autumn's  grief; 

Do  they  surmise  what  the  winter  brings  ? 

I turn  my  eyes  from  the  sweet,  sad  sky, 

From  the  foam-white  gulls  and  the  sails  that 
gleam, 

To  muse  on  the  scattered  flowers  that  lie 
Lost  as  yet  in  a summer  dream. 

0 darlings,  nursed  by  the  salt  sea-spray ! 

0 shapes  of  beauty  so  quaint  and  bright! 


116 


WAIT 


But  for  a little  the  frosts  delay, 

Soon  will  be  ended  your  brief  delight. 

Could  I but  succor  you,  every  one, 

Spread  wings  of  safety  ’twixt  harm  and  you; 
Call  from  its  southern  travel  the  sun, 

Banish  the  snow  from  the  arching  blue ! 

It  may  not  be,  and  the  frosts  must  fall, 

The  winter  must  reign  in  the  summer’s  stead 
But,  though  you  perish  beyond  recall, 

Ever  I love  you,  alive  or  dead. 


WAIT 

Are  the  roses  fallen,  dear  my  child  ? 

Has  the  winter  left  us  only  thorns, 

Sharp  and  shuddering  stalks  in  tangles  wild, 
Set  with  cruel  teeth  and  iron  horns  ? 

Wait  a little,  fret  not,  and  at  last 
Beauty  will  the  barren  boughs  again 
Tenderly  re- clothe,  when  snows  are  past, 

And  the  earth  grows  glad  in  sun  and  rain. 

Never  vex  your  heart  nor  tear  your  hands, 
Searching  ’mid  the  thorns  for  vanished  bliss 


KAREN 


117 


For  the  soul  that  patience  understands 
Needs  no  wisdom  more  divine  than  this: 

Wait!  The  sweet  flowers  of  the  coming  spring 
Beautiful  as  those  you  mourn  shall  he. 

Wait ! for  happy  birds  are  sure  to  sing, 

While  new  roses  bloom  for  you  and  me. 


KAREN 

At  her  low  quaint  wheel  she  sits  to  spin, 

Deftly  drawing  the  long,  light  rolls 

Of  carded  wool  through  her  fingers  thin, 

By  the  fireside  at  the  Isles  of  Shoals. 

She  is  not  pretty,  she  is  not  young, 

Poor  homesick  Karen,  who  sits  and  spins, 

Humming  a song  in  her  native  tongue, 

That  falters  and  stops,  and  again  begins, 

While  her  wheel  flies  fast,  with  its  drowsy  hum, 
And  she  makes  a picture  of  pensive  grace 

As  thoughts  of  her  well-loved  Norway  come 
And  deepen  the  shadows  across  her  face. 

Her  collar  is  white  as  the  drifted  snow, 

And  she  spun  and  wove  her  blue  gown  fine 


118 


KAREN 


With  those  busy  hands.  See,  a flitting  glow 

Makes  her  pale  cheek  burn  and  her  dark  eyes  shine ! 

Left  you  a lover  in  that  far  land, 

0 Karen  sad,  that  you  pine  so  long  ? 

Would  I could  unravel  and  understand 
That  sorrowful,  sweet  Norwegian  song! 

When  the  spring  wind  blew,  the  “America  wind,” 

As  your  people  call  it,  that  bears  away 

Their  youths  and  maidens  a home  to  find 
In  this  distant  country,  could  you  not  stay 

And  live  in  that  dear  Norway  still, 

And  let  the  emigrant  crowd  sail  West 

Without  you?  Well,  you  have  had  your  will. 

Why  would  you  fly  from  your  sheltering  nest  ? 

0 homesick  Karen,  listen  to  me : 

You  are  not  young,  and  you  are  not  fair, 

But  Waldemar  no  one  else  can  see, 

For  he  carries  your  image  everywhere. 

Is  he  too  boyish  a lover  for  you, 

With  all  his  soul  in  his  frank  blue  eyes? 

Feign  you  unconsciousness  ? Is  it  true 

You  know  not  his  heart  in  your  calm  hand  lies  ? 


A MUSSEL  SHELL 


119 


Handsome  and  gentle  and  good  is  he; 

Loves  you,  Karen,  better  than  life; 

Do  but  consider  him,  can’t  you  see 

What  a happy  woman  would  be  his  wife  ? 

You  won’t  be  merry?  You  can’t  be  glad? 

Still  must  you  mourn  for  that  home  afar? 
Well,  here  is  an  end  of  a hope  I had, 

And  I am  sorry  for  Waldemar! 


A MUSSEL  SHELL 

Why  art  thou  colored  like  the  evening  sky 
Sorrowing  for  sunset?  Lovely  dost  thou  lie, 

Bared  by  the  washing  of  the  eager  brine, 

At  the  snow’s  motionless  and  wind-carved  line. 

Cold  stretch  the  snows,  cold  throng  the  waves,  the 
wind 

Stings  sharp,  — an  icy  fire,  a touch  unkind,  — 

And  sighs  as  if  with  passion  of  regret, 

The  while  I mark  thy  tints  of  violet. 

0 beauty  strange!  0 shape  of  perfect  grace, 

Whereon  the  lovely  waves  of  color  trace 
The  history  of  the  years  that  passed  thee  by, 

And  touched  thee  with  the  pathos  of  the  sky ! 


120 


TRUST 


The  sea  shall  crush  thee;  yea,  the  ponderous  wave 

Up  the  loose  beach  shall  grind,  and  scoop  thy  grave, 

Thou  thought  of  God ! What  more  than  thou  am  I ? 

Both  transient  as  the  sad  wind’s  passing  sigh. 

TBUST 

See  how  the  wind  is  hauling  point  by  point  to  the 
south, 

By  the  boats  in  the  little  harbor,  that  swing  to  its 
lightest  touch; 

And  the  coasting  craft  emerge  from  the  far-off  river’s 
mouth, 

And  on  the  rocks  the  breakers  relax  their  impotent 
clutch. 

At  last  is  the  tempest  ended,  the  bitter  northeast 
appeased, 

And  the  world  will  soon  be  sparkling  in  clear  white 
fire  and  dew, 

And  the  sullen  clouds  melt  swiftly,  by  the  might  of 
warm  wind  seized, 

And  the  heavens  shine  in  splendor,  where  broadens 
the  matchless  blue. 

Carol  the  birds  in  chorus;  glitters  the  snow-white  gull, 

Screaming  loud  in  mid-air,  slow-soaring  high  with 
delight; 


TRUST 


121 


And  the  rosebuds  loosen  their  petals,  the  drenched 
flowers,  sodden  and  dull, 

Break  out  into  stars  of  purple  and  gold  and  crimson 
and  white. 

Where  wert  thou,  Spirit  of  Beauty,  while  earth  lay 
cold  and  dark, 

And  the  chill  wind  struck  to  our  hearts,  and  the 
sky  like  an  enemy  scowled, 

And  we  crept  through  the  mists  desponding,  and  never 
a glimmering  spark 

Shot  a ray  through  the  gloom  while  the  storm  like 
a demon  groveled  and  growled? 

Where  art  thou,  Heavenly  Father,  when  thy  world 
seems  spoiled  with  sin, 

And  darker  far  than  thy  tempest  arises  the  smoke 
of  doubt, 

That  blackens  the  sky  of  the  soul  ? — for  faith  is  hard 
to  win: 

To  our  finite  sight  wrong  triumphs  and  noble  things 
die  out, 

While  shapes  of  monstrous  evil  make  fearful  thy  nights 
and  days, 

And  murder  stalks  unhindered,  working  its  hideous 
will, 


122 


MODJESKA 


And  innocence,  gentleness,  charity  seem  to  forsake 
earth’s  ways, 

And  in  the  hearts  of  thy  creatures  are  madness  and 
nameless  ill. 

Behind  the  cloud  Thou  waitest,  hidden,  yet  very  near, 

Infinite  Spirit  of  Beauty,  Infinite  Power  of  Good! 

At  last  Thou  wilt  scatter  the  vapors,  and  all  things 
shall  he  clear, 

And  evil  shall  vanish  away  like  a mist  by  the  wind 
pursued. 


MODJESKA 

Deft  hands  called  Chopin’s  music  from  the  keys. 

Silent  she  sat,  her  slender  figure’s  poise 
Flower-like  and  fine  and  full  of  lofty  ease ; 

She  heard  her  Poland’s  most  consummate  voice 
From  power  to  pathos  falter,  sink  and  change; 

The  music  of  her  land,  the  wondrous  high, 

Utmost  expression  of  its  genius  strange,  — 

Incarnate  sadness  breathed  in  melody. 

Silent  and  thrilled  she  sat,  her  lovely  face 
Flushing  and  paling  like  a delicate  rose 
Shaken  by  summer  winds  from  its  repose 
Softly  this  way  and  that  with  tender  grace, 

Now  touched  by  sun,  now  into  shadow  turned,  — 
While  bright  with  kindred  fire  her  deep  eyes  burned ! 


SONG 


123 


SONG 

0 swallow,  sailing  lightly 
The  crystal  deeps  of  blue, 

With  flashing  wings  that  brightly 
Glitter  the  sunshine  through, 

What  sayest  thou,  returning 
From  sunny  lands  and  fair, 

That  summer  roses  burning 
Shall  light  the  fragrant  air? 

That  merry  days  thou  bringest, 
And  gone  is  winter’s  woe,  — 

Is  this  the  song  thou  singest  ? 

Gay  prophet,  is  it  so? 

1 know  all  beauties  follow 
Swift  in  thy  shining  track, 

But  to  my  heart,  0 swallow, 

Canst  thou  bring  summer  back  ? 

No  shaft  of  sunshine  glorious 
Shall  melt  my  winter  snows, 

No  kiss  of  June  victorious 
Awake  for  me  the  rose ! 


124 


LARS 


LARS 

“Tell  us  a story  of  these  isles, ” they  said, 

The  daughters  of  the  West,  whose  eyes  had  seen 
For  the  first  time  the  circling  sea,  instead 

Of  the  blown  prairie’s  waves  of  grassy  green: 

“Tell  us  of  wreck  and  peril,  storm  and  cold, 

Wild  as  the  wildest.”  Under  summer  stars, 

With  the  slow  moonrise  at  our  back,  I told 
The  story  of  the  young  Norwegian,  Lars. 

That  youth  with  the  black  eyebrows  sharply  drawn 
In  strong  curves,  like  some  sea-bird’s  wings  out- 
spread 

O’er  his  dark  eyes,  is  Lars,  and  this  fair  dawn 
Of  womanhood,  the  maiden  he  will  wed. 

She  loves  him  for  the  dangers  he  has  past. 

Her  rosy  beauty  glowed  before  his  stern 
And  vigilant  regard,  until  at  last 

Her  sweetness  vanquished  Lars  the  taciturn. 

For  he  is  ever  quiet,  strong,  and  wise; 

Wastes  nothing,  not  a gesture  nor  a breath; 

Forgets  not,  gazing  in  the  maiden’s  eyes, 

A year  ago  it  was  not  love,  but  death, 


LARS 


125 


That  clasped  him,  and  can  hardly  learn  as  yet 
How  to  be  merry,  haunted  by  that  pain 

And  terror,  and  remembering  with  regret 
The  comrade  he  can  never  see  again. 

Out  from  the  harbor  on  that  winter  day 

Sailed  the  two  men  to  set  their  trawl  together. 

Down  swept  the  sudden  snow-squall  o’er  the  bay, 
And  hurled  their  slight  boat  onward  like  a feather. 

They  tossed  they  knew  not  whither,  till  at  last 
Under  the  lighthouse  cliff  they  found  a lee, 

And  out  the  road-lines  of  the  trawl  they  cast 
To  moor  her,  if  so  happy  they  might  be. 

But  quick  the  slender  road-lines  snapt  in  twain 
In  the  wild  breakers,  and  once  more  they  tossed 

Adrift;  and,  watching  from  his  misty  pane, 

The  lighthouse  keeper  muttered,  “They  are  lost!” 

Lifted  the  snow:  night  fell;  swift  cleared  the  sky; 
The  air  grew  sharp  as  death  with  polar  cold; 

Raged  the  insensate  gale,  and  flashing  high 
In  starlight  keen  the  hissing  billows  rolled. 

Driven  before  the  wind’s  incessant  scourge 

All  night  they  fled,  — one  dead  ere  morning  lay. 

Lars  saw  his  strange,  drawn  countenance  emerge 
In  the  fierce  sunrise  light  of  that  drear  day, 


126 


LARS 


And  thought,  “A  little  space  and  I shall  be 
Even  as  he,”  and,  gazing  in  despair 

O’er  the  wide,  weltering  waste,  no  sign  could  see 
Of  hope,  or  help,  or  comfort,  anywhere. 

Two  hundred  miles  before  the  hurricane 
The  dead  and  living  drove  across  the  sea. 

The  third  day  dawned.  His  dim  eyes  saw  again 
The  vast  green  plain,  breaking  eternally 

In  ghastly  waves.  But  in  the  early  light, 

On  the  horizon  glittering  like  a star, 

East  growing,  looming  tall,  with  canvas  white, 

Sailed  his  salvation  southward  from  afar ! 

Down  she  bore,  rushing  o’er  the  hills  of  brine, 

Straight  for  his  feeble  signal.  As  she  past, 

Out  from  the  schooner’s  deck  they  flung  a line, 

And  o’er  his  head  the  open  noose  was  cast. 

Clutching  with  both  his  hands  the  bowline  knot 

Caught  at  his  throat,  swift  drawn  through  fire  he 
seemed, 

Whelmed  in  the  icy  sea,  and  he  forgot 

Life,  death,  and  all  things,  — yet  he  thought  he 
dreamed 

A dread  voice  cried,  “ We  ’ve  lost  him!  ” and  a sting 
Of  anguish  pierced  his  clouded  senses  through; 


SONG 


127 


A moment  more,  and  like  a lifeless  thing 
He  lay  among  the  eager,  pitying  crew. 

Long  time  he  swooned,  while  o’er  the  ocean  vast 
The  dead  man  tossed  alone,  they  knew  not  where ; 

But  youth  and  health  triumphant  were  at  last, 

And  here  is  Lars,  you  see,  and  here  the  fair 

Young  snow-and-rose-bloom  maiden  he  will  wed. 
His  face  is  kindly,  though  it  seems  so  stern. 

Death  passed  him  by,  and  life  begins  instead, 

For  Thora  sweet  and  Lars  the  taciturn. 

SONG 

A rushing  of  wings  in  the  dawn, 

A flight  of  birds  in  the  sky ! 

The  darkness  of  night  withdrawn, 

In  an  outburst  of  melody ! 

O birds  through  the  heaven  that  soar 
With  such  tumult  of  jubilant  song! 

The  shadows  are  flying  before, 

For  the  rapture  of  life  is  strong, 

* And  my  spirit  leaps  to  the  light 

On  the  wings  of  its  hope  new-born, 

And  I follow  your  radiant  flight 
Through  the  golden  halls  of  morn! 


128 


THORA 


THORA 

Come  under  my  cloak,  my  darling ! 

Thou  little  Norwegian  maid! 

Nor  wind,  nor  rain,  nor  rolling  sea 
Shall  chill  or  make  thee  afraid. 

Come  close,  little  blue-eyed  maiden, 

Nestle  within  my  arm; 

Though  the  lightning  leaps  and  the  thunder  peals, 
We  shall  be  safe  from  harm. 

Swift  from  the  dim  horizon 

The  dark  sails  scud  for  the  land. 

Look,  how  the  rain-cloud  drops  its  fringe 
About  us  on  either  hand! 

And  high  from  our  plunging  bowsprit 
Dashes  the  cold  white  spray, 

And  storm  and  tumult  fill  the  air 
And  trouble  the  summer  day. 

But  thou  fearest  nothing,  darling, 

Though  the  tempest  mutter  and  brood, 

Though  the  wild  wind  tosses  thy  bright  brown  locks, 
And  flutters  thy  grass-green  snood. 


THORA 


129 


I kiss  thy  wise  white  forehead, 

While  the  thunder  rolls  so  grand; 

And  I hold  the  curve  of  thy  lovely  cheek 
In  the  hollow  of  my  hand; 

And  I watch  the  sky  and  the  ocean, 

And  study  thy  gentle  face  — 

Its  lines  of  sweetness  and  power, 

The  type  of  thy  strong  Norse  race. 

And  I wonder  what  thy  life  will  he, 

Thou  dear  and  charming  child, 

Who  hast  drifted  so  far  across  the  world 
To  a home  so  lone  and  wild. 

Bude  and  rough  and  sad,  perhaps; 
Anxious,  and  full  of  toil; 

But  I think  no  sorrow  or  hardship 
Thine  inner  peace  can  spoil. 

For  better  than  kingly  fortunes 

Is  the  wealth  that  thou  dost  hold  — 

A nature  perfectly  balanced, 

A beauty  of  heart  untold. 

Thou  wilt  open  the  door  of  patience, 
When  sorrow  shall  come  and  knock; 

But  to  every  evil,  unworthy  thing 
Wilt  thou  the  gates  fast  lock. 


130 


THE  HAPPY  BIRDS 


So  shall  thy  days  be  blessed, 

Whatever  may  be  thy  lot. 

But  what  I am  silently  pondering 
Thou  understandest  not, 

And  liftest  to  me  thy  steadfast  eyes, 

Calm  as  if  Heaven  looked  through. 

Do  all  the  maidens  in  Norway 
Have  eyes  so  clear  and  blue  ? 

See,  darling,  where,  in  the  distance, 

The  cloud  breaks  up  in  the  sky, 

And  lets  a ray  of  sunshine  fall 
Where  our  far-off  islands  lie ! 

White  they  gleam,  and  the  sea  grows  bright, 
And  silver  shines  the  foam. 

A little  space,  and  our  anchor  drops 
In  the  haven  of  Love  and  Home ! 


THE  HAPPY  BXKDS 

All  about  the  gable  tall  swift  the  swallows  flit, 

Wheel  and  call  and  dart  and,  fluttering,  chatter 
sweet ; 

All  along  the  sloping,  sunny  eaves  they  perch  and  sit, 
Bright  as  lapis-lazuli,  glittering  in  the  heat. 


THE  HAPPY  BIRDS 


131 


O spirits  of  the  summer,  so  dainty,  delicate, 

Creatures  born  of  sunshine  and  cheer  and  all  de- 
light, 

Pray  you,  but  delay  a moment,  yet  a little  wait, 

Ere  for  southern  lands  again  you  spread  your  wings 
in  flight! 

Yet  the  August  sun  is  hot,  yet  the  days  are  long, 
Though  the  grass  is  over-ripe  and  the  aster  blows; 

Still  the  silence  echoes  to  the  sparrow’s  quiet  song, 
Still,  though  late,  in  thorny  thickets  lingers  the 
wild  rose. 

Tarry  yet  a little,  for  after  you  have  flown 

Lonely  all  the  housetops  and  still  the  air  will 
grow; 

Where  your  cheerful  voices  rang  autumn  winds  will 
moan; 

Presently  we  shall  be  dull  with  winter’s  weight  of 
snow. 

Oh!  that  we  could  follow  you  and  cling  to  Summer’s 
hand, 

Ye  happy,  happy  birds,  flying  lightly  through  the 
sky! 

Peach  with  you  the  rapture  of  some  far,  sunny  land, 
Leave  to  Winter’s  bitterness  our  glad  and  gay  good- 
by ! 


132 


SLUMBER  SONG 


SLUMBEB  SONG 

Thou  little  child,  with  tender,  clinging  arms, 

Drop  thy  sweet  head,  my  darling,  down  and  rest 
Upon  my  shoulder,  rest  with  all  thy  charms; 

Be  soothed  and  comforted,  be  loved  and  blessed. 

Against  thy  silken,  honey-colored  hair 
I lean  a loving  cheek,  a mute  caress; 

Close,  close  I gather  thee  and  kiss  thy  fair 
White  eyelids,  sleep  so  softly  doth  oppress. 

Dear  little  face,  that  lies  in  calm  content 
Within  the  gracious  hollow  that  God  made 
In  every  human  shoulder,  where  He  meant 
Some  tired  head  for  comfort  should  be  laid ! 

Most  like  a heavy-folded  rose  thou  art, 

In  summer  air  reposing,  warm  and  still. 

Dream  thy  sweet  dreams  upon  my  quiet  heart; 

I watch  thy  slumber ; naught  shall  do  thee  ill. 


STAELIGHT 

The  chill,  sad  evening  wind  of  winter  blows 
Across  the  headland,  bleak  and  bare  and  high, 
bustling  the  thin,  dry  grass  that  sparsely  grows, 
And  shivering  whispers  like  a human  sigh. 


STARLIGHT 


133 


The  sky  is  thick  with  stars  that  sparkle  keen, 

And  great  Capella  in  the  clear  northeast 

Rolls  slowly  up  the  cloudless  heaven  serene, 

And  the  stern  uproar  of  the  sea  has  ceased 

A fleeting  moment,  and  the  earth  seems  dead  — 

So  still,  so  sad,  so  lonely,  and  so  cold ! 

Snow- dust  beneath  me,  and  above  my  head 

Star-dust  in  blackness,  like  thick-sprinkled  gold. 

The  stars  of  fire,  the  tiny  stars  of  ice, 

The  awful  whirling  worlds  in  space  that  wheel, 

The  dainty  crystal’s  delicate  device,  — 

One  hand  has  fashioned  both  — and  I,  who  kneel 

Here  on  this  winter  night,  ’twixt  stars  and  snow, 

As  transient  as  a snowflake  and  as  weak, 

Yearning  like  all  my  fellow-men  to  know 

His  hidden  purpose  that  no  voice  may  speak; 

In  silent  awe  I watch  his  worlds:  I see 
Mighty  Capella’ s signal,  and  I know 

The  steady  beam  of  light  that  reaches  me 
Left  the  great  orb  full  seventy  years  ago. 

A human  lifetime ! Reason  strives  in  vain 
To  grasp  at  time  and  space,  and  evermore 


134 


STARLIGHT 


Thought,  weary  grown  and  baffled,  must  again 
Retrace  its  slow  steps  to  the  humble  door 

Of  wistful  patience,  there  to  watch  and  wait 
Devoutly,  till  at  last  Death’s  certain  hand, 

Imperious,  opens  wide  the  mystic  gate 

Between  us  and  the  future  He  has  planned. 

Yea,  Death  alone.  But  shall  Death  conquer  all  ? 
Love  fights  and  pleads  in  anguish  of  despair. 

Sooner  shall  great  Capella  wavering  fall 
Than  any  voice  respond  to  his  wild  prayer. 

And  yet,  what  fire  divine  makes  hope  to  glow 
Through  the  pale  ashes  of  our  earthly  fate  t 

Immortal  hope,  above  all  joy,  below 

All  depths  of  pain  wherein  we  strive  and  wait! 

Dull  is  our  sense;  hearing  we  do  not  hear, 

And  seeing  see  not;  yet  we  vaguely  feel 

Somewhere  is  comfort  in  the  darkness  drear, 

And,  hushing  doubts  and  fears,  we  learn  to  kneel. 

Starlight  and  silence!  Dumb  are  sky  and  sea; 
Silent  as  death  the  awful  spaces  lie; 

Speechless  the  bitter  wind  blows  over  me, 

Sad  as  the  breathing  of  a human  sigh. 


SONG 


135 


SONG 

Hark,  how  sweet  the  thrushes  sing! 

Hark,  how  clear  the  robins  call! 

Chorus  of  the  happy  spring, 

Summers  madrigal! 

Flood  the  world  with  joy  and  cheer, 

0 ye  birds,  and  pour  your  song 
Till  the  farthest  distance  hear 
Notes  so  glad  and  strong ! 

Storm  the  earth  with  odors  sweet, 

O ye  flowers,  that  blaze  in  light! 

Crowd  about  June’s  shining  feet, 

All  ye  blossoms  bright. 

Shout,  ye  waters,  to  the  sun ! 

Back  are  winter’s  fetters  hurled; 

Summer’s  glory  is  begun; 

Beauty  holds  the  world! 

EEMON  STB  AN  CE 

“ Come  out  and  hear  the  birds  sing ! Oh,  wherefore  sit 
you  there 

At  the  western  window  watching,  dreamy-pale  and 
still  and  fair, 


136 


REMONSTRANCE 


While  the  warm  summer  wind  disparts  your  tresses* 
clustering  gold? 

What  is  it  on  the  dim  sea  line  your  eyes  would  fain 
behold  ? ” 

“I  seek  a sail  that  never  looms  from  out  the  purple 
haze 

At  rosy  dawn,  or  fading  eve,  or  in  the  noontide’s 
blaze.  ” 

“ A sail  ? Lo,  many  a column  of  white  canvas  far  and 
near! 

All  day  they  glide  across  the  blue,  appear  and  disap- 
pear; 

See,  how  they  crowd  the  offing,  flocking  from  the  sul- 
try South! 

Why  stirs  a smile  more  sad  than  tears  the  patience  of 
your  mouth  ? 99 

“They  lean  before  the  freshening  breeze,  they  cross 
the  ocean  floor, 

But  the  ship  that  brings  me  tidings  of  my  love  comes 
never  more.” 

“Come  out  into  the  garden  where  the  crimson  phloxes 
burn, 

And  every  slender  lily-stem  upbears  a lustrous  urn; 

A thousand  greetings  float  to  you  from  bud  and  bell 
and  star, 


REMONSTRANCE 


137 


Their  sweetness  freights  the  breathing  wind;  how 
beautiful  they  are ! ” 

“Their  brilliant  color  blinds  me;  I sicken  at  their 
breath ; 

The  whisper  of  this  mournful  wind  is  sad  to  me  as 
death.  ” 

“And  must  you  sit  so  white  and  cold  while  all  the 
world  is  bright? 

Ah,  come  with  me  and  see  how  all  is  brimming  with 
delight ! 

On  the  beach  the  emerald  breaker  murmurs  o’er  the 
tawny  sand; 

The  white  spray  from  the  rock  is  tossed,  by  melting 
rainbows  spanned.” 

“Nay,  mock  me  not!  I have  no  heart  for  nature’s 
happiness ; 

One  sound  alone  my  soul  can  fill,  one  shape  my  sight 
can  bless.” 

“And  are  your  fetters  forged  so  fast,  though  you  were 
free  and  strong, 

By  the  old,  mysterious  madness,  told  in  story  and  in 
song 

Since  burdened  with  the  human  race  the  world  began 
to  roll? 

Can  you  not  thrust  the  weight  away,  so  heavy  on  your 
soul  ? ” 


138 


MORNING  SONG 


“There  is  no  power  in  earth  or  heaven  such  madness 
to  destroy, 

And  I would  not  part  with  sorrow  that  is  sweeter  far 
than  joy.” 

“Oh  marvelous  content,  that  from  such  still  despair  is 
born! 

Nay,  I would  wrestle  with  my  fate  till  love  were  slain 
with  scorn! 

O mournful  Mariana ! I would  never  sit  so  pale, 

Watching,  with  eyes  grown  dim  with  dreams,  the 
coming  of  a sail ! ” 

“Peace,  peace!  How  can  you  measure  a depth  you 
never  knew  ? 

My  chains  to  me  are  dearer  than  your  freedom  is  to 
you.  ” 


MOBNING  SONG 

We  launch  our  boat  upon  the  sparkling  sea, 

We  dip  our  rhythmic  oars  with  song  and  cheer; 
Before  our  dancing  prow  the  shadows  flee, 

Behind  us  fast  the  fair  coasts  disappear. 

So  fade  our  childhood’s  shores.  Without  regret 
We  leave  the  safe,  green,  happy  fields,  and  try 
The  vague,  uncertain  ocean,  storm-beset, 

Nor  see  the  tempests  that  before  us  lie. 


BEETHOVEN 


139 


Flushed  with  our  hope  the  unknown  future  gleams, 
Freighted  with  blissful  dreams  our  barque  floats  on, 
And  life  a shining  path  of  victory  seems, 

Crowned  with  a golden  peace  when  day  is  done. 

BEETHOVEN 

If  God  speaks  anywhere,  in  any  voice, 

To  us,  his  creatures,  surely  here  and  now 
We  hear  Him,  while  the  great  chords  seem  to  bow 
Our  heads,  and  all  the  symphony's  breathless  noise 
Breaks  over  us  with  challenge  to  our  souls ! 
Beethoven's  music!  From  the  mountain  peaks 
The  strong,  divine,  compelling  thunder  rolls, 

And,  “ Come  up  higher,  come ! 99  the  words  it  speaks, 
“Out  of  your  darkened  valleys  of  despair, 

Behold,  I lift  you  upon  mighty  wings 
Into  Hope's  living,  reconciling  air! 

Breathe,  and  forget  your  life's  perpetual  stings; 
Dream,  — folded  on  the  breast  of  Patience  sweet, 
Some  pulse  of  pitying  love  for  you  may  beat ! 99 

SONG 

What  good  gift  can  I bring  thee,  O thou  dearest ! 
All  joys  to  thee  belong; 

Thy  praise  from  loving  lips  all  day  thou  hearest, 
Sweeter  than  any  song. 


140 


WITH  THE  TIDE 


For  thee  the  sun* shines  and  the  earth  rejoices 
In  fragrance,  music,  light; 

The  spring-time  woos  thee  with  a thousand  voices, 

For  thee  her  flowers  are  bright; 

Youth  crowns  thee,  and  love  waits  upon  thy  splendor, 
Trembling  beneath  thine  eyes; 

The  morning  sky  is  yet  serene  and  tender, 

Thy  life  before  thee  lies. 

What  shall  I bring  thee,  0 thou  dearest,  fairest! 

Thou  holdest  in  thy  hand 
My  heart  as  lightly  as  the  rose  thou  wearest; 

Nor  wilt  thou  understand 
Thou  art  my  sun,  my  rose,  my  day,  my  morrow, 

My  lady  proud  and  sweet! 

I bring  the  treasure  of  a priceless  sorrow, 

To  lay  before  thy  feet. 

WITH  THE  TIDE 

Swift  o'er  the  water  my  light  yacht  dances, 

Flying  fast  from  the  wind  of  the  South; 

Bright  from  her  bowsprit  the  white  foam  glances, 
And  straight  we  steer  for  the  harbor's  mouth. 

The  coast  line  dim  from  the  haze  emerges, 

With  tender  tints  of  the  spring-time  toned; 

On  silver  beaches  roll  sparkling  surges, 

And  woods  are  green  on  the  hills  enthroned. 


WITH  THE  TIDE 


141 


The  sentinel  lighthouses  watch  together, 

As  the  stately  river  we  reach  at  last; 

The  robins  sing  in  the  blithe  May  weather, 

And  the  flood- tide  bears  us  onward  fast. 

From  bank  to  bank  flows  a chorus  mellow 
Of  rippling  frogs  and  of  singing  birds; 

The  fields  are  starry  with  flowers  of  yellow, 

And  green  slopes  pasture  the  lowing  herds. 

A lovely  perfume  blows  softly  over 
From  apple-blossoms  on  either  side, 

From  golden  willow  and  budding  clover, 

And  many  a garden  of  lowly  pride. 

And  a lazy  echo  of  glad  cocks  crowing 
From  door-yards  cosy  rings  far  and  near! 

And  the  city’s  murmur  is  slowly  growing 
From  out  the  distance  distinct  and  clear. 

Over  the  river,  so  broadly  flowing, 

Cottages  look  from  the  sheltering  trees; 

And  out  through  the  orchard,  with  blossoms  snowing, 
Comes  a brown-haired  maiden  from  one  of  these. 

She  waves  her  hand  as  in  friendly  token, 

And  watches  my  swift  boat  sailing  on; 

I answer  her  signal  — no  word  is  spoken, 

’Tis  but  a moment,  and  she  is  gone. 


142  “THE  SUNRISE  NEVER  FAILED  US  YET 


And  when,  from  the  far-off  town  returning, 
Dropping  down  with  the  ebbing  tide, 

Seaward  we  sail,  with  the  sunset  burning 
O’er  wastes  of  the  ocean,  lone  and  wide, 

Again  in  the  orchard  her  white  hand  lifted 
Shows  like  a waft  of  a sea-bird’s  wing, 

While  the  rosy  blossoms  are  o’er  her  drifted, 
And  loud  with  rapture  the  robins  sing. 

I know  her  not  and  shall  know  her  never, 

But  ever  I watch  for  that  friendly  sign; 

And  up  or  down  with  the  stately  river 
Her  lovely  greeting  is  always  mine. 

And  her  presence  lends  to  the  scene  a glory, 
More  beauty  to  blossom  and  stream  and  tree; 

And  back  o’er  the  wastes  of  the  ocean  hoary 
Her  gentle  image  I take  with  me. 


“THE  SUNBISE  NEVEB  FAILED  US  YET” 

Upon  the  sadness  of  the  sea 
The  sunset  broods  regretfully; 

From  the  far  lonely  spaces,  slow 
Withdraws  the  wistful  afterglow. 


ENTHRALLED 


143 


So  out  of  life  the  splendor  dies; 

So  darken  all  the  happy  skies; 

So  gathers  twilight,  cold  and  stern; 

But  overhead  the  planets  burn; 

And  up  the  east  another  day 
Shall  chase  the  bitter  dark  away ; 

What  though  our  eyes  with  tears  be  wet  ? 
The  sunrise  never  failed  us  yet. 

The  blush  of  dawn  may  yet  restore 
Our  light  and  hope  and  joy  once  more. 

Sad  soul,  take  comfort,  nor  forget 
That  sunrise  never  failed  us  yet ! 

ENTHEALLED 

Like  huge  waves,  petrified,  against  the  sky, 

The  solemn  hills  are  heaved;  by  shadow  kissed, 
Or  softly  touched  by  delicate  light  they  lie 
Melting  in  sapphire  and  in  amethyst. 

The  thronging  mountains,  crowding  all  the  scene, 
Are  like  the  long  swell  of  an  angry  sea, 
Tremendous  surging  tumult  that  has  been 
Smitten  to  awful  silence  suddenly. 

The  nearer  slopes  with  autumn  glory  blaze, 

Garnet  and  ruby,  topaz,  amber,  gold ; 


144 


ENTHRALLED 


Up  through  the  quiet  air  the  thin  smoke  strays 
From  many  a lonely  homestead,  brown  and  old. 

The  scattered  cattle  graze  in  pastures  bare, 

The  brooks  sing  unconcerned  beside  the  way, 

Belated  crickets  chirp,  while  still  and  fair 
Dies  into  sunset  peace  the  golden  day. 

And  toward  the  valley,  where  the  little  town 

Beckons  with  twinkling  lights,  that  gleam  below 

Like  bright  and  friendly  eyes,  we  loiter  down 
And  find  our  shelter  and  our  fireside  glow. 

But  while  the  gay  hours  pass  with  laugh  and  jest, 

And  all  is  radiant  warmth  and  joy  once  more, 

My  captured  thought  must  wander  out  in  quest 
Of  that  vast  mountain  picture,  o’er  and  o’er; 

Where  underneath  the  black  and  star-sown  arch 
Earth’s  ancient  trouble  speaks  eternally; 

And  I must  watch  those  mighty  outlines  march 
In  silence,  motionless,  with  none  to  see; 

While  from  the  north  the  night- wind  sighing  sweeps, 
And,  sharp  against  the  crystal  sky  relieved, 

The  tumult  of  forgotten  ages  sleeps 

Where  like  huge  waves  the  solemn  hills  are  heaved. 


SONG 


145 


SONG 

Kolls  the  long  breaker  in  splendor,  and  glances, 
Leaping  in  light! 

Sparkling  and  singing  the  swift  ripple  dances, 
Laughing  and  bright; 

Up  through  the  heaven  the  curlew  is  flying, 
Soaring  so  high! 

Sweetly  his  wild  notes  are  ringing,  and  dying, 
Lost  in  the  sky. 

Glitter  the  sails  to  the  south-wind  careening, 
White- winged  and  brave; 

Bowing  to  breeze  and  to  billow,  and  leaning 
Low  o’er  the  wave. 

Beautiful  wind,  with  the  touch  of  a lover 
Leading  the  hours, 

Helping  the  winter-worn  world  to  recover 
All  its  lost  flowers, 

Gladly  I hear  thy  warm  whisper  of  rapture, 
Sorrow  is  o’er! 

Earth  all  her  music  and  bloom  shall  recapture, 
Happy  once  more. 


146 


TRANSITION 


TRANSITION 

A clash  of  human  tongues  within 
Made  the  bright  room  a dreary  jail; 

Dull  webs  of  talk  the  idle  spin 

Turned  all  its  glow  and  color  pale. 

Outside,  the  peaceful  sunset  sky 

Was  burning,  deepening  with  the  night; 

One  great  star,  glittering  still  and  high, 
Sent  o’er  the  sea  its  track  of  light. 

And  wearily  I spoke,  and  heard 
An  empty  echo  of  reply, 

Fretting  like  some  imprisoned  bird 
That  longs  to  break  its  cage  and  fly; 

When  suddenly  the  din  seemed  stilled, 
Rarer  the  air  so  dense  before; 

A mystic  rapture  warmed  and  thrilled 
My  heart,  and  I was  dull  no  more. 

Joy  stole  to  me  with  sweet  surmise, 

With  sense  of  some  unmeasured  good; 

There  was  no  need  to  lift  my  eyes 
To  know  who  on  the  threshold  stood, 


TRANSITION 


147 


More  splendid  than  the  brilliant  night 
That  looked  in  at  the  window-pane, 

Welcome  as  to  parched  fields  the  light, 
Refreshing  touch  of  summer  rain! 

She  moved  with  recognition  sweet, 

She  bowed  with  courtesy  calm  and  kind, 

As  graceful  as  the  waving  wheat 

That  bends  before  the  summer  wind. 

Swift  sped  the  step  of  lagging  time, 

As  if  a breeze  of  morning  blew; 

Clear  as  the  ring  of  Chaucer’s  rhyme 
The  vapid,  idle  talking  grew ! 

I heard  her  rich  tones  sounding  through 
The  many  voices  like  a strain 

Of  lofty  music,  strong  and  true, 

And  perfect  joy  was  mine  again. 

I did  not  seek  her  radiant  face, 

Bright  as  spring  light  when  winter  dies, 

But  warm  across  the  crowded  space 
I felt  the  gaze  of  noble  eyes; 

And  in  that  glorious  look,  at  last, 

I seemed  like  one  with  sins  forgiven, 

With  all  life’s  pain  and  sorrow  passed, 
Entering  the  open  gates  of  heaven ! 


148 


LEVIATHAN 


LEVIATHAN 

Betwixt  the  bleak  rock  and  the  barren  shore 

Boiled  miles  of  hoary  waves  that  hissed  with  frost, 

And  from  the  bitter  north  with  sullen  roar 

Swept  the  wild  wind,  and  the  wild  water  tossed. 

In  the  cold  sky,  hard,  pitiless,  and  drear, 

The  sun  dropped  down;  but  ere  the  world  grew 
gray, 

A sweet,  reluctant  rose-tint,  sad  and  clear, 

Stained  icy  crags  and  leagues  of  leaping  spray. 

Midway  between  the  lone  rock  and  the  shore 
A fountain  fair  sprang  skyward  suddenly, 

And  sudden  fell;  and  yet  again  once  more 
The  column  rose,  and  sank  into  the  sea. 

Silent,  ethereal,  mystic,  delicate, 

Flushed  with  delicious  glow  of  fading  rose, 

It  grew  and  vanished,  like  some  genie  great, 

Some  wild,  thin  phantom,  woven  of  winter  snows. 

’T  was  the  foam-fountain  of  the  mighty  whale, 

Bising  each  time  more  far  and  faint  and  dim. 

All  his  huge  strength  against  the  thundering  gale 
He  set;  no  hurricane  could  hinder  him! 


TO  A VIOLIN 


149 


There  came  to  me  a gladness  in  the  sight, 

A pleasure  in  the  thought  of  life  so  strong, 
Daring  the  elements,  and  making  light 

Of  winter's  wrathful  power  of  wreck  and  wrong. 

I gloried  in  his  triumph  o'er  the  vast 

Blind  rage  of  Nature.  All  her  awful  force, 

The  terror  of  her  tempest  full  she  cast 

Against  him,  yet  he  kept  his  ponderous  course. 

For  her  worst  fury  he  nor  stayed  nor  turned. 

'Twas  joy  to  think  in  such  tremendous  play, 
Through  the  sea's  cruelty,  all  unconcerned, 
Leviathan  pursued  his  placid  way ! 


TO  A VIOLIN 

What  wondrous  power  from  heaven  upon  thee 
wrought  ? 

What  prisoned  Ariel  within  thee  broods? 

Marvel  of  human  skill  and  human  thought, 

Light  as  a dry  leaf  in  the  winter  woods ! 

Thou  mystic  thing,  all  beautiful ! What  mind 
Conceived  thee,  what  intelligence  began 
And  out  of  chaos  thy  rare  shape  designed, 

Thou  delicate  and  perfect  work  of  man? 


150 


PHILOSOPHY 


Across  my  hands  thou  liest  mute  and  still; 

Thou  wilt  not  breathe  to  me  thy  secret  fine; 

Thy  matchless  tones  the  eager  air  shall  thrill 
To  no  entreaty  or  command  of  mine; 

But  comes  thy  master,  lo ! thou  yieldest  all : 

Passion  and  pathos,  rapture  and  despair; 

To  the  soul’s  need  thy  searching  voice  doth  call 
In  language  exquisite  beyond  compare, 

Till  into  speech  articulate  at  last 

Thou  seem’st  to  break,  and  thy  charmed  listener 
hears 

Thee  waking  echoes  of  the  vanished  past, 

Touching  the  source  of  gladness  and  of  tears; 

And  with  bowed  head  he  lets  the  sweet  wave  roll 
Across  him,  swayed  by  that  weird  power  of  thine, 
And  reverence  and  wonder  fill  his  soul 
That  man’s  creation  should  be  so  divine. 


PHILOSOPHY 

So  soon  the  end  must  come, 

Why  waste  in  sighs  our  breath  ? 
So  soon  our  lips  are  dumb, 

So  swift  comes  death. 


PHILOSOPHY 


151 


So  brief  the  time  to  smile, 

Why  darken  we  the  air 

With  frowns  and  tears,  the  while 
We  nurse  despair? 

Hold  firm  the  suffering  will 
And  bravely  thrust  it  back; 

Fight  with  the  powers  of  ill, 

The  legions  black. 

Stand  in  the  sunshine  sweet 
And  treasure  every  ray, 

Nor  seek  with  stubborn  feet 
The  darksome  way. 

Have  courage ! Keep  good  cheer ! 
Our  longest  time  is  brief. 

To  those  who  hold  you  dear 
Bring  no  more  grief. 

But  cherish  blisses  small, 

Grateful  for  least  delight 

That  to  your  lot  doth  fall, 
However  slight. 

And  lo!  all  hearts  will  bring 
Love,  to  make  glad  your  days: 

Blessings  untold  will  spring 
About  your  ways. 


152 


MEDRICK  AND  OSPREY 


So  shall  life  bloom  and  shine. 

Lifted  its  pain  above, 

Crowned  with  this  gift  divine, 

The  gift  of  Love. 

MEDBICK  AND  OSPEEY 

Medrick,  waving  wide  wings  low  over  the  breeze- 
rippled  bight; 

Osprey,  soaring  superb  overhead  in  the  fathomless 
blue, 

Graceful  and  fearless  and  strong,  do  you  thrill  with 
the  morning’s  delight 

Even  as  I ? Brings  the  sunshine  a message  of  beauty 
for  you? 

Oh  the  blithe  breeze  of  the  west,  blowing  sweet  from 
the  far-away  land, 

Bowing  the  grass  heavy-headed,  thick  crowding,  so 
slender  and  proud! 

Oh  the  warm  sea  sparkling  over  with  waves  by  the 
swift  wind  fanned! 

Oh  the  wide  sky  crystal  clear,  with  bright  islands  of 
delicate  cloud! 

Feel  you  the  waking  of  life  in  the  world  locked  long 
time  in  the  frost, 

Beautiful  birds,  with  the  light  flashing  bright  from 
your  banner-like  wings? 


ALONE 


153 


Osprey,  soaring  on  high,  in  the  depths  of  the  sky  half 
lost, 

Medrick,  hovering  low  where  the  sandpiper’s  sweet 
note  rings! 

Nothing  am  I to  you,  a blot,  perhaps,  on  the  day; 

Naught  do  I add  to  your  joy,  but  precious  you  are 
in  my  sight; 

And  you  seem  on  your  glad  wings  to  lift  me  up  into 
the  ether  away, 

And  the  morning  divine  is  more  radiant  because  of 
your  glorious  flight. 


ALONE 

The  lilies  clustered  fair  and  tall; 

I stood  outside  the  garden  wall ; 

I saw  her  light  robe  glimmering  through 
The  fragrant  evening’s  dusk  and  dew. 

She  stooped  above  the  lilies  pale; 

Up  the  clear  east  the  moon  did  sail; 

I saw  her  bend  her  lovely  head 
O’er  her  rich  roses  blushing  red. 

Her  slender  hand  the  flowers  caressed, 

Her  touch  the  unconscious  blossoms  blessed ; 


154 


REVERIE 


The  rose  against  her  perfumed  palm 
Leaned  its  soft  cheek  in  blissful  calm. 

I would  have  given  my  soul  to  be 
That  rose  she  touched  so  tenderly ! 

I stood  alone,  outside  the  gate, 

And  knew  that  life  was  desolate. 


REVERIE 

The  white  reflection  of  the  sloop’s  great  sail 
Sleeps  trembling  on  the  tide ; 

In  scarlet  trim  her  crew  lean  o’er  the  rail, 
Lounging  on  either  side. 

Pale  blue  and  streaked  with  pearl  the  waters  lie 
And  glitter  in  the  heat; 

The  distance  gathers  purple  bloom  where  sky 
And  glimmering  coast-line  meet. 

From  the  cove’s  curving  rim  of  sandy  gray 
The  ebbing  tide  has  drained, 

Where,  mournful,  in  the  dusk  of  yesterday 
The  curlew’s  voice  complained. 

Half  lost  in  hot  mirage  the  sails  afar 
Lie  dreaming,  still  and  white; 


REVERIE 


155 


No  wave  breaks,  no  wind  breathes,  the  peace  to  mar; 
Summer  is  at  its  height. 

How  many  thousand  summers  thus  have  shone 
Across  the  ocean  waste, 

Passing  in  swift  succession,  one  by  one, 

By  the  fierce  winter  chased! 

The  gray  rocks  blushing  soft  at  dawn  and  eve, 

The  green  leaves  at  their  feet, 

The  dreaming  sails,  the  crying  birds  that  grieve, 

Ever  themselves  repeat. 

And  yet  how  dear  and  how  forever  fair 
Is  Nature’s  friendly  face, 

And  how  forever  new  and  sweet  and  rare 
Each  old  familiar  grace ! 

What  matters  it  that  she  will  sing  and  smile 
When  we  are  dead  and  still  ? 

Let  us  be  happy  in  her  beauty  while 
Our  hearts  have  power  to  thrill. 

Let  us  rejoice  in  every  moment  bright, 

Grateful  that  it  is  ours ; 

Bask  in  her  smiles  with  ever  fresh  delight, 

And  gather  all  her  flowers; 


156 


heart’s-ease 


For  presently  we  part:  what  will  avail 
Her  rosy  fires  of  dawn, 

Her  noontide  pomps,  to  us,  who  fade  and  fail, 
Our  hands  from  hers  withdrawn  ? 


HEART’S-EASE 

Southward  still  the  sun  is  slanting  day  by  day, 

Skies  that  brim  with  gold  and  azure  slowly  change; 

Beauty  waxes  cold  and  dim  and  cannot  stay, 

Into  tone  and  tint  steals  something  ill  and  strange. 

Threat  of  evil  finds  its  way  to  every  ear, 

Lurks  in  light  and  shade  and  sounds  in  every 
breath ; 

From  the  pathless  snow-fields  comes  a warning  drear, 
And  the  shuddering  north- wind  carries  news  of 
death. 

Stealthy  step  of  Winter  near  and  nearer  draws: 
Locking  earth  beneath  him,  terrible  with  might, 

Strides  he  from  the  icy  zone  without  a pause, 

Swift  and  sure  and  fierce,  with  ready  hand  to  smite. 

Dearest,  when  without  the  door  he  threatening  stands, 
Having  rendered  desolate  the  fair  green  earth, 

And  sent  her  happy  birds  to  sunnier  lands, 

And  choked  with  sullen  snows  her  summer  mirth, 


heart’s-ease 


157 


We  shall  sit  together,  you  and  I,  once  more, 

Warm  and  quiet,  shut  away  from  storm  and  cold ; 

We  shall  smile  to  hear  him  blustering  at  the  door, 
While  the  room  glows  with  the  firelight’s  ruddy 
gold. 

How  safe  my  heart  keeps  every  memory  sweet, 

Holding  still  your  picture,  as  you  used  to  sit, 

Ever  lovely,  full  of  grace  from  head  to  feet, 

With  that  heap  of  snowy  wool  I watched  you 
knit; 

With  the  lamplight  falling  on  your  cloudy  hair  — 

On  the  rich,  loose  hands  of  brown,  so  soft  to  touch ; 

On  the  silken  knot  of  rose  you  used  to  wear, 

On  the  thoughtful  little  face  I love  so  much. 

You  remember,  when  aloud  I read  to  you, 

Sometimes  silence  intervened.  You  would  not 
move, 

But  in  your  radiant  cheek  the  blushes  grew, 

For  you  knew  I paused  to  gaze  at  you,  my  love! 

Paused  to  realize  my  heaven,  till  with  kind, 

Clear  and  questioning  gray  eyes  you  sought  my  face. 

What  a look ! Its  kindling  glory  struck  me  blind ; 

’T  was  a splendor  that  illumined  all  the  place. 


158 


AUTUMN 


What  to  us  are  Winters  blows  and  hate  and  wrath? 
And  what  matter  that  the  green  earth’s  bloom  is 
fled? 

There  has  been  immortal  summer  in  our  path 
All  the  happy,  happy  years  since  we  were  wed. 

AUTUMN 

Round  and  round  the  garden  rushed  a sudden  blast, 
Crying,  “ Autumn!  Autumn!”  shuddering  as  it 
passed. 

Dry  poppy-head  and  larkspur-spike  shrill  whistled  in 
the  wind, 

Together  whispering,  “Autumn!  and  Winter  is  be- 
hind!” 


Tossed  the  sumach  pennons,  green  and  gold  and  red ; 

Flapped  the  awning  scallops  loudly  overhead; 
Swung  the  empty  hammocks  lightly  to  and  fro; 
While  the  crickets  simmered,  chirruping  below. 

Keen  the  star  of  evening  hung  glittering  in  the  sky, 
Red  the  west  was  burning,  deepening  silently; 
Summer  constellations  slow  wheeling  out  of  sight, 
Great  Orion  shining  clear  upon  the  face  of  night. 

Sadly  sang  the  ocean,  sighing  in  the  dark; 

Far  away  the  lighthouse  lit  a sudden  spark; 


SONG 


159 


Black  against  the  sunset  sails  were  gliding  past; 

Earth  and  sea  and  sky  were  saying,  “Autumn  ’s  here 
at  last ! ” 

Soon  will  snow  be  flying,  soon  will  tempests  roar, 

Soon  the  freezing  north  will  lash  us  bitter  as  before ; 

I heard  the  waters  whisper,  I heard  the  winds  com- 
plain, 

But  sweet,  reluctant  Summer  I knew  would  come 
again. 


SONG 

Love,  art  thou  weary  with  the  sultry  day  ? 

Fain  would  I be  the  cool  and  delicate  air 
About  the  whiteness  of  thy  brow  to  play, 

And  softly,  lightly  stir  thy  cloudy  hair. 

Upon  thy  head  doth  the  fierce  winter  smite, 

And  shudderest  thou  in  darkness  cold  to  be  ? 

I would  I were  the  coming  of  the  light, 

Shelter,  and  radiant  warmth  to  comfort  thee. 

I would  be  fire  and  fragrance,  light  and  air, 

All  gracious  things  that  serve  thee  at  thy  need; 
Music,  to  lift  thy  heart  above  all  care; 

The  wise  and  charming  book  that  thou  dost  read. 


160 


SUBMISSION 


There  is  no  power  that  cheers  and  blesses  thee 
But  I do  envy  it,  beneath  the  sun! 

Thy  health,  thy  rest,  thy  refuge  I would  be; 
Thy  heaven  on  earth,  thine  every  good  in  one0 


SUBMISSION 

The  sparrow  sits  and  sings,  and  sings; 

Softly  the  sunsets  lingering  light 
Lies  rosy  over  rock  and  turf, 

And  reddens  where  the  restless  surf 
Tosses  on  high  its  plumes  of  white. 

Gently  and  clear  the  sparrow  sings, 

While  twilight  steals  across  the  sea, 

And  still  and  bright  the  evening-star 
Twinkles  above  the  golden  bar 
That  in  the  west  lies  quietly. 

Oh,  steadfastly  the  sparrow  sings, 

And  sweet  the  sound;  and  sweet  the  touch 
Of  wooing  winds;  and  sweet  the  sight 
Of  happy  Nature’s  deep  delight 
In  her  fair  spring,  desired  so  much ! 

But  while  so  clear  the  sparrow  sings 
A cry  of  death  is  in  my  ear; 


SUBMISSION 


161 


The  crashing  of  the  riven  wreck, 

Breakers  that  sweep  the  shuddering  deck, 
And  sounds  of  agony  and  fear. 

How  is  it  that  the  birds  can  sing? 

Life  is  so  full  of  bitter  pain; 

Hearts  are  so  wrung  with  hopeless  grief; 

Woe  is  so  long  and  joy  so  brief; 

Nor  shall  the  lost  return  again. 

Though  rapturously  the  sparrow  sings, 

No  bliss  of  Nature  can  restore 

The  friends  whose  hands  I clasped  so  warm, 
Sweet  souls  that  through  the  night  and  storm 
Fled  from  the  earth  for  evermore. 

Yet  still  the  sparrow  sits  and  sings, 

Till  longing,  mourning,  sorrowing  love, 

Groping  to  find  what  hope  may  be 
Within  death’s  awful  mystery, 

Beaches  its  empty  arms  above; 

And  listening,  while  the  sparrow  sings, 

And  soft  the  evening  shadows  fall, 

Sees,  through  the  crowding  tears  that  blind, 

A little  light,  and  seems  to  find 
And  clasp  God’s  hand,  who  wrought  it  all. 


162 


SONG 


SONG 

I wore  your  roses  yesterday: 

About  this  light  robe’s  folds  of  white, 

Wherein  their  gathered  sweetness  lay, 
Still  clings  their  perfume  of  delight. 

And  all  in  vain  the  warm  wind  sweeps 
These  airy  folds  like  vapor  fine, 

Among  them  still  the  odor  sleeps, 

And  haunts  me  with  a dream  divine. 

So  to  my  heart  your  memory  clings, 

So  sweet,  so  rich,  so  delicate: 

Eternal  summer-time  it  brings, 

Defying  all  the  storms  of  fate; 

A power  to  turn  the  darkness  bright, 

Till  life  with  matchless  beauty  glows; 

Each  moment  touched  with  tender  light, 
And  every  thought  of  you  a rose ! 

SPRING  AGAIN 

I stood  on  the  height  in  the  stillness 
And  the  planet’s  outline  scanned, 

And  half  was  drawn  with  the  line  of  sea 
And  half  with  the  far  blue  land. 


SPRING  AGAIN 


163 


With  wings  that  caught  the  sunshine 
In  the  crystal  deeps  of  the  sky, 

Like  shapes  of  dreams,  the  gleaming  gulls 
Went  slowly  floating  by. 

Below  me  the  boats  in  the  harbor 

Lay  still,  with  their  white  sails  furled; 

Sighing  away  into  silence, 

The  breeze  died  off  the  world. 

On  the  weather-worn,  ancient  ledges 
Peaceful  the  calm  light  slept ; 

And  the  chilly  shadows,  lengthening, 

Slow  to  the  eastward  crept. 

The  snow  still  lay  in  the  hollows, 

And  where  the  salt  waves  met 

The  iron  rock,  all  ghastly  white 
The  thick  ice  glimmered  yet. 

But  the  smile  of  the  sun  was  kinder, 

The  touch  of  the  air  was  sweet; 

The  pulse  of  the  cruel  ocean  seemed 
Like  a human  heart  to  beat. 

Frost-locked,  storm-beaten,  and  lonely, 

In  the  midst  of  the  wintry  main. 


164 


SPRING  AGAIN 


Our  bleak  rock  yet  the  tidings  heard: 

“ There  shall  be  spring  again ! ” 

Worth  all  the  waiting  and  watching,- 
The  woe  that  the  winter  wrought, 

Was  the  passion  of  gratitude  that  shook 
My  soul  at  the  blissful  thought! 

Soft  rain  and  flowers  and  sunshine, 

Sweet  winds  and  brooding  skies, 

Quick-flitting  birds  to  fill  the  air 
With  clear,  delicious  cries; 

And  the  warm  sea’s  mellow  murmur 
Resounding  day  and  night; 

A thousand  shapes  and  tints  and  tones 
Of  manifold  delight, 

Nearer  and  ever  nearer 
Drawing  with  every  day ! 

But  a little  longer  to  wait  and  watch 
’Neath  skies  so  cold  and  gray, 

And  hushed  is  the  roar  of  the  bitter  north 
Before  the  might  of  the  Spring, 

And  up  the  frozen  slope  of  the  world 
Climbs  Summer,  triumphing. 


SONNET 


165 


SONNET 

As  happy  dwellers  by  the  seaside  hear 

In  every  pause  the  sea’s  mysterious  sound, 
The  infinite  murmur,  solemn  and  profound, 
Incessant,  filling  all  the  atmosphere, 

Even  so  I hear  you,  for  you  do  surround 
My  newly-waking  life,  and  break  for  aye 
About  the  viewless  shores,  till  they  resound 
With  echoes  of  God’s  greatness  night  and  day. 
Refreshed  and  glad  I feel  the  full  flood-tide 
Fill  every  inlet  of  my  waiting  soul; 
Long-striving,  eager  hope,  beyond  control, 
For  help  and  strength  at  last  is  satisfied; 

And  you  exalt  me,  like  the  sounding  sea, 
With  ceaseless  whispers  of  eternity. 


SONG 

Above  in  her  chamber  her  voice  I hear 
Singing  so  clear; 

Among  her  flowers  I stand  and  wait, 
Dreaming  I lean  on  the  garden  gate, 

In  joy  and  fear. 

Softly  the  light  robes  she  doth  wear 
Sweep  down  the  stair ; 


166 


FOREBODING 


0 eager  heart,  less  wildly  beat,  — 

1 shall  behold  her,  stately,  sweet, 

All  good  and  fair ! 

Nearer,  her  voice!  In  a moment  more 
Through  the  open  door 
Come  grace  and  beauty  and  all  delight 
The  round  world  holds  to  my  dazzled  sight, 
The  threshold  o’er! 

She  holds  me  mute  with  her  beaming  eyes 
Full  of  bright  surprise; 

Still  grow  the  pulses  her  coming  shook, 

In  the  gentle  might  of  her  golden  look 
My  heaven  lies! 

FOREBODING 

Cricket,  why  wilt  thou  crush  me  with  thy  cry  ? 
How  can  such  light  sound  weigh  so  heavily ! 
Behold  the  grass  is  sere,  the  cold  dews  fall, 

The  world  grows  empty  — yes,  I know  it  all, 

The  knell  of  joy  I hear. 

Oh,  long  ago  the  swallows  hence  have  flown, 

And  sadly  sings  the  sea  in  undertone; 

The  wild  vine  crimsons  o’er  the  rough  gray  stone 
The  stars  of  winter  rise,  the  cool  winds  moan; 

Fast  wanes  the  golden  year. 


HOMAGE 


167 


0 cricket,  cease  thy  sorrowful  refrain . 

This  summer’s  glory  comes  not  back  again, 

But  others  wait  with  flowers  and  sun  and  rain; 
Why  wakest  thou  this  haunting  sense  of  pain, 

Of  loss,  regret,  and  fear? 

Clear  sounds  thy  note  above  the  waves’  low  sigh, 
Clear  through  the  breathing  wind  that  wanders  by, 
Clear  through  the  rustle  of  dry  grasses  tall; 

Thou  chantest,  “ Joy  is  dead!  ” I know  it  all, 
The  winter’s  woe  is  near. 


HOMAGE 

Nay,  comrade,  ’t  is  a weary  path  we  tread 

Through  this  world’s  desert  spaces,  dull  and  dry, 
And  long  ago  died  out  youth’s  morning-red, 

And  low  the  sunset  fires  before  us  lie : 

And  you  are  worn,  though  brave  the  face  you  wear. 

Forbear  the  deprecating  gesture,  take 
The  honest  admiration  that  I bear 

Your  genius,  and  be  mute,  for  friendship’s  sake. 

Up  to  your  lips  I lift  a generous  wine, 

Pure,  perfumed,  potent,  living,  sparkling  bright; 
A deep  cup,  brimming  with  a draught  divine; 
Drink,  then,  and  be  refreshed  with  my  delight. 


168 


DISCONTENT 


It  gladdens  you  ? You  know  the  gift  sincere  ? 

You  dreamed  not  life  yet  held  a thing  so  sweet? 
Nay,  noble  friend,  your  thanks  I will  not  hear, 

But  I shall  cast  my  roses  at  your  feet, 

And  go  my  way  rejoicing  that  ’t  is  I 

Who  recognize,  acknowledge,  judge  you  best, 
Proud  that  a star  so  steadfast  lights  the  sky, 

And  in  the  power  of  blessing  you  most  blest. 

DISCONTENT 
There  is  no  day  so  dark 

But  through  the  murk  some  ray  of  hope  may  steal. 
Some  blessed  touch  from  Heaven  that  we  might  feel, 
If  we  but  chose  to  mark. 

We  shut  the  portals  fast, 

And  turn  the  key  and  let  no  sunshine  in ; 

Yet  to  the  worst  despair  that  comes  through  sin 
God’s  light  shall  reach  at  last. 

We  slight  our  daily  joy, 

Make  much  of  our  vexations,  thickly  set 
Our  path  with  thorns  of  discontent,  and  fret 
At  our  fine  gold’s  alloy, 

Till  bounteous  Heaven  might  frown 
At  such  ingratitude,  and,  turning,  lay 


DISCONTENT  ' 


169 


On  our  impatience  burdens  that  would  weigh 
Our  aching  shoulders  down. 

We  shed  too  many  tears, 

And  sigh  too  sore,  and  yield  us  up  to  woe, 

As  if  God  had  not  planned  the  way  we  go 
And  counted  out  our  years. 

Can  we  not  be  content, 

And  lift  our  foreheads  from  the  ignoble  dust 
Of  these  complaining  lives,  and  wait  with  trust, 
Fulfilling  Heaven’s  intent? 

Must  we  have  wealth  and  power, 

Fame,  beauty,  all  things  ordered  to  our  mind 
Nay,  all  these  things  leave  happiness  behind! 
Accept  the  sun  and  shower, 

The  humble  joys  that  bless, 

Appealing  to  indifferent  hearts  and  cold 
With  delicate  touch,  striving  to  reach  and  hold 
Our  hidden  consciousness; 

And  see  how  everywhere 

Love  comforts,  strengthens,  helps,  and  saves  us  all; 
What  opportunities  of  good  befall 

To  make  life  sweet  and  fair! 


170 


ALREADY 


ALREADY 

Already  the  dandelions 

Are  changed  into  vanishing  ghosts; 

Already  the  tall  ripe  grasses 
Are  standing  in  serried  hosts, 

Bowing  with  stately  gesture 

Whenever  the  warm  winds  blow, 

Like  the  spear-heads  of  an  army 
Charging  against  the  foe. 

Already  the  nestling  sparrows 
Are  clothed  in  a mist  of  gray, 

And  under  the  breast  of  the  swallow 
The  warm  eggs  stir  to-day. 

Already  the  cricket  is  busy 
With  hints  of  soberer  days, 

And  the  goldenrod  lights  slowly 
Its  torch  for  the  autumn  blaze. 

0 brief,  bright  smile  of  summer! 

0 days  divine  and  dear! 

The  voices  of  winter’s  sorrow 
Already  we  can  hear. 


GUESTS 


171 


And  we  know  that  the  frosts  will  find  us, 

And  the  smiling  skies  grow  rude, 

While  we  look  in  the  face  of  Beauty, 

And  worship  her  every  mood. 

GUESTS 

Sunflower  tall  and  hollyhock,  that  wave  in  the  wind 
together, 

Cornflower,  poppy,  and  marigold,  blossoming  fair 
and  fine, 

Delicate  sweet- peas,  glowing  bright  in  the  quiet  autumn 
weather, 

While  over  the  fence,  on  fire  with  bloom,  climbs 
the  nasturtium  vine ! 

Quaint  little  wilderness  of  flowers,  straggling  hither 
and  thither  — 

Morning-glories  tangled  about  the  larkspur  gone  to 
seed, 

Scarlet  runners  that  burst  all  bounds,  and  wander, 
heaven  knows  whither, 

And  lilac  spikes  of  bergamot,  as  thick  as  any  weed. 

And  oh,  the  bees  and  the  butterflies,  the  humming- 
birds and  sparrows, 

That  over  the  garden  waver  and  chirp  and  flutter 
the  livelong  day ! 


172 


GUESTS 


Humming-birds,  that  dart  in  the  sun  like  green  and 
golden  arrows, 

Butterflies  like  loosened  flowers  blown  off  by  the 
wind  in  play. 

Look  at  the  red  nasturtium  flower,  drooping,  bending, 
and  swaying; 

Out  the  gold-banded  humble-bee  breaks  and  goes 
booming  anew! 

Hark,  what  the  sweet-voiced  fledgeling  sparrows  low 
to  themselves  are  saying, 

Pecking  my  golden  oats  where  the  cornflowers 
gleam  so  blue! 

Welcome,  a thousand  times  welcome,  ye  dear  and  deli- 
cate neighbors  — 

Bird  and  bee  and  butterfly,  and  humming-bird  fairy 
fine! 

Proud  am  I to  offer  you  a field  for  your  graceful 
labors ; 

All  the  honey  and  all  the  seeds  are  yours  in  this 
garden  of  mine. 

I sit  on  the  doorstep  and  watch  you.  Beyond  lies 
the  infinite  ocean, 

Sparkling,  shimmering,  whispering,  rocking  itself  to 
rest; 


MUTATION 


173 


And  the  world  is  full  of  perfume  and  color  and  beauti- 
ful motion, 

And  each  new  hour  of  this  sweet  day  the  happiest 
seems  and  best. 


MUTATION 

About  your  window’s  happy  height 
The  roses  wove  their  airy  screen: 

More  radiant  than  the  blossoms  bright 
Looked  your  fair  face  between. 

The  glowing  summer  sunshine  laid 
Its  touch  on  field  and  flower  and  tree; 

But  ’twas  your  golden  smile  that  made 
The  warmth  that  gladdened  me. 

The  summer  withered  from  the  land, 

The  vision  from  the  window  passed: 

Blank  Sorrow  looked  at  me ; her  hand 
Sought  mine  and  clasped  it  fast. 

The  bitter  wind  blows  keen  and  drear, 
Stinging  with  winter’s  flouts  and  scorns, 

And  where  the  roses  breathed  I hear 
The  rattling  of  the  thorns. 


174 


FAREWELL 


FAKEWELL 

The  crimson  sunset  faded  into  gray; 

Upon  the  murmurous  sea  the  twilight  fell; 

The  last  warm  breath  of  the  delicious  day 
Passed  with  a mute  farewell. 

Above  my  head,  in  the  soft  purple  sky, 

A wild  note  sounded  like  a shrill-voiced  bell ; 

Three  gulls  met,  wheeled,  and  parted  with  a cry 
That  seemed  to  say,  “Farewell!  ” 

I watched  them:  one  sailed  east,  and  one  soared  west, 
And  one  went  floating  south;  while  like  a knell 
That  mournful  cry  the  empty  sky  possessed, 
“Farewell,  farewell,  farewell!” 

“Farewell!”  I thought,  it  is  the  earth’s  one  speech; 

All  human  voices  the  sad  chorus  swell; 

Though  mighty  Love  to  heaven’s  high  gate  may  reach, 
Yet  must  he  say,  “Farewell!  ” 

The  rolling  world  is  girdled  with  the  sound, 
Perpetually  breathed  from  all  who  dwell 
Upon  its  bosom,  for  no  place  is  found 

Where  is  not  heard,  “Farewell!” 


DOUBT 


175 


“Farewell,  farewell!” — from  wave  to  wave  't  is 
tossed, 

From  wind  to  wind:  earth  has  one  tale  to  tell; 

All  other  sounds  are  dulled  and  drowned  and  lost 
In  this  one  cry,  “ Farewell ! ” 


DOUBT 

The  wild  rose  blooms  for  the  sun  of  June, 

The  tide  ebbs  slowly  out; 

I hear  in  the  dreamy  afternoon 
The  far-off  fisher’s  shout. 

The  sand  lies  gray  and  the  sea  leaps  blue, 

The  tide  ebbs  slowly  out; 

O lover  mine,  who  called  to  you, 

That  you  left  me  here  to  doubt  ? 

The  white  gull’s  wing  sweeps  the  whiter  foam, 
The  tide  ebbs  slowly  out; 

’Tis  not  your  white  sail,  yearning  home 
To  put  my  fears  to  rout ! 

The  rose  may  blush  and  the  sun  may  shine, 
The  tide  ebbs  slowly  out; 

The  world  is  good  if  you  are  mine, 

Ashes  and  dust  without ! 


176 


SUNSET  SONG 


SUNSET  SONG 

Far  off  against  the  solemn  sky 
Black  lie  the  city’s  towers; 

Before  me  rustles,  dim  and  dry, 

My  field  of  golden  flowers. 

How  thin  the  wind’s  cool  whisper  draws 
Through  withered  leaf  and  stalk! 

Is  this  the  breeze  that  once  would  pause 
With  blossoms  bright  to  talk? 

Dark  lies  the  land  in  twilight  sad, 

No  bird  sings  in  its  bowers; 

Where  is  the  glory  once  that  clad 
My  field  of  golden  flowers? 

The  distant  city  rings  its  bells, 

Like  memory’s  tender  chime; 

0 sweet,  sweet  bells,  ye  speak  farewells 
To  life’s  enchanted  prime! 

Dark  lies  the  land  in  twilight  cold, 

Gone  are  the  sumptuous  hours; 

The  city  sleeps,  and  shadows  fold 
My  field  of  golden  flowers. 


“LOVE  SHALL  SAVE  US  ALL. 


177 


ff 


“LOVE  SHALL  SAVE  US  ALL ” 

0 Pilgrim,  comes  the  night  so  fast  ? 

Let  not  the  dark  thy  heart  appall, 

Though  loom  the  shadows  vague  and  vast, 
For  Love  shall  save  us  all. 

There  is  no  hope  but  this  to  see 

Through  tears  that  gather  fast  and  fall; 

Too  great  to  perish  Love  must  be, 

And  Love  shall  save  us  all. 

Have  patience  with  our  loss  and  pain, 

Our  troubled  space  of  days  so  small ; 

We  shall  not  reach  our  arms  in  vain, 

For  Love  shall  save  us  all. 

0 Pilgrim,  hut  a moment  wait, 

And  we  shall  hear  our  darlings  call 

Beyond  death’s  mute  and  awful  gate, 

And  Love  shall  save  us  all! 

THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  MYSTERY 

The  children  wandered  up  and  down, 
Seeking  for  driftwood  o’er  the  sand; 

The  elder  tugged  at  granny’s  gown, 

And  pointed  with  his  little  hand. 


178 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  MYSTERY 


“Look!  look!”  he  cried,  “at  yonder  ship 
That  sails  so  fast  and  looms  so  tall ! 99 
She  turned,  and  let  her  basket  slip, 

And  all  her  gathered  treasure  fall. 

“Nay,  granny,  why  are  you  so  pale? 

Where  is  the  ship  we  saw  but  now  ? ” 
“ Oh,  child,  it  was  no  mortal  sail ! 

It  came  and  went,  I know  not  how. 

“ But  ill  winds  fill  that  canvas  white 
That  blow  no  good  to  you  and  me. 

Oh,  woe  for  us  who  saw  the  sight 
That  evil  bodes  to  all  who  see ! 99 

They  pressed  about  her,  all  afraid: 

“ Oh,  tell  us,  granny,  what  was  she  ? 99 
“A  ship’s  unhappy  ghost,”  she  said, 

“The  awful  ship,  the  Mystery.” 

“ But  tell  us,  tell  us ! ” “ Quiet  be ! ” 

She  said.  “Sit  close  and  listen  well, 
For  what  befell  the  Mystery 
It  is  a fearful  thing  to  tell ! ” 


She  was  a slave-ship  long  ago. 
Year  after  year  across  the  sea 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  MYSTERY 


179 


She  made  a trade  of  human  woe, 

And  carried  freights  of  misery. 

One  voyage,  when  from  the  tropic  coast 
Laden  with  dusky  forms  she  came,  — 

A wretched  and  despairing  host,  — 

Beneath  the  fierce  sun’s  breathless  flame 

Sprang,  like  a wild  beast  from  its  lair, 

The  fury  of  the  hurricane, 

And  sent  the  great  ship  reeling  bare 
Across  the  roaring  ocean  plain. 

Then  terror  seized  the  piteous  crowd: 

With  many  an  oath  and  cruel  blow 
The  captain  drove  them,  shrieking  loud, 

Into  the  pitch-black  hold  below. 

Shouting,  “Make  fast  the  hatchways  tight!  ” 
He  cursed  them : “ Let  them  live  or  die, 
They  T1  trouble  us  no  more  to-night!” 

The  crew  obeyed  him  sullenly. 

Has  hell  such  torment  as  they  knew  ? 

Like  herded  cattle  packed  they  lay, 

Till  morning  showed  a streak  of  blue 
Breaking  the  sky’s  thick  pall  of  gray 


180 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  MYSTERY 


“Off  with  the  hatchways,  men!  ” No  sound! 
What  sound  should  rise  from  out  a grave  ? 

The  silence  shook  with  dread  profound 
The  heart  of  every  seaman  brave. 

“Quick!  Drag  them  up,”  the  captain  said, 
“And  pitch  the  dead  into  the  sea!  ” 

The  sea  was  peopled  with  the  dead, 

With  wide  eyes  staring  fearfully. 

From  weltering  wave  to  wave  they  tossed. 
Two  hundred  corpses,  stiff  and  stark, 

At  last  were  in  the  distance  lost, 

A banquet  for  the  wandering  shark. 

Oh,  sweetly  the  relenting  day 

Changed,  till  the  storm  had  left  no  trace, 

And  the  whole  awful  ocean  lay 
As  tranquil  as  an  infant’s  face. 

Abaft  the  wind  hauled  fair  and  fine, 

Lightly  the  ship  sped  on  her  way ; 

Her  sharp  bows  crushed  the  yielding  brine 
Into  a diamond  dust  of  spray. 

But  up  and  down  the  decks  her  crew 

Shook  their  rough  heads,  and  eyed  askance, 

With  doubt  and  hate  that  ever  grew, 

The  captain’s  brutal  countenance, 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  MYSTERY 


181 


As  slow  he  paced  with  frown  as  black 
As  night.  At  last,  with  sudden  shout, 

He  turned.  “’Bout  ship!  We  will  go  hack 
And  fetch  another  cargo  out ! ” 

They  put  the  ship  about  again; 

His  will  was  law,  they  could  not  choose. 
They  strove  to  change  her  course  in  vain: 
Down  fell  the  wind,  the  sails  hung  loose, 

And  from  the  far  horizon  dim 
An  oily  calm  crept  silently 
Over  the  sea  from  rim  to  rim; 

Still  as  if  anchored  fast  lay  she. 

The  sun  set  red,  the  moon  shone  white, 

On  idle  canvas  drooping  drear; 

Through  the  vast,  solemn  hush  of  night 
What  is  it  that  the  sailors  hear  ? 

Now  do  they  sleep  — and  do  they  dream? 

Was  that  the  wind’s  foreboding  moan? 
From  stem  to  stern  her  every  beam 
Quivered  with  one  unearthly  groan ! 

Leaped  to  his  feet  then  every  man, 

And  shuddered,  clinging  to  his  mate; 

And  sunburned  cheeks  grew  pale  and  wan, 
Blanched  with  that  thrill  of  terror  great. 


182 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  MYSTERY 


The  captain  waked,  and  angrily 

Sprang  to  the  deck,  and  cursing  spoke. 

“What  devil's  trick  is  this?  ” cried  he. 

No  answer  the  scared  silence  broke. 

But  quietly  the  moonlight  clear 

Sent  o'er  the  waves  its  pallid  glow: 

What  stirred  the  water  far  and  near, 

With  stealthy  motion  swimming  slow  ? 

With  measured  strokes  those  swimmers  dread 
From  every  side  came  gathering  fast; 

The  sea  was  peopled  with  the  dead 
That  to  its  cruel  deeps  were  cast! 

And  coiling,  curling,  crawling  on, 

The  phantom  troop  pressed  nigh  and  nigher, 

And  every  dusky  body  shone 
Outlined  in  phosphorescent  fire. 

They  gained  the  ship,  they  climbed  the  shrouds, 
They  swarmed  from  keel  to  topmast  high; 

Now  here,  now  there,  like  filmy  clouds 
Without  a sound  they  flickered  by. 

And  where  the  captain  stood  aghast, 

With  hollow,  mocking  eyes  they  came, 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  MYSTERY 


183 


And  bound  him  fast  unto  the  mast 

With  ghostly  ropes  that  bit  like  flame. 

Like  maniacs  shrieked  the  startled  crew ! 
They  loosed  the  boats,  they  leaped  within; 

Before  their  oars  the  water  flew; 

They  pulled  as  if  some  race  to  win. 

With  spectral  light  all  gleaming  bright 
The  Mystery  in  the  distance  lay; 

Away  from  that  accursed  sight 
They  fled  until  the  break  of  day. 

And  they  were  rescued,  but  the  ship, 

The  awful  ship,  the  Mystery, 

Her  captain  in  the  dead  men’s  grip,  — 

Never  to  any  port  came  she; 

But  up  and  down  the  roaring  seas 
For  ever  and  for  aye  she  sails, 

In  calm  or  storm,  against  the  breeze, 
Unshaken  by  the  wildest  gales. 

And  wheresoe’er  her  form  appears 
Come  trouble  and  disaster  sore, 

And  she  has  sailed  a hundred  years, 

And  she  will  sail  for  evermore. 


184 


SCHUMANN’S  SONATA  IN  A MINOR 


SCHUMANN’S  SONATA  IN  A MINOR 

(mit  leidenschaftlichem  ausdruck) 

The  quiet  room,  the  flowers,  the  perfumed  calm, 

The  slender  crystal  vase,  where  all  aflame 
The  scarlet  poppies  stand  erect  and  tall, 

Color  that  burns  as  if  no  frost  could  tame, 

The  shaded  lamplight  glowing  over  all, 

The  summer  night  a dream  of  warmth  and  balm. 

Outbreaks  at  once  the  golden  melody, 

“With  passionate  expression!”  Ah,  from  whence 
Comes  the  enchantment  of  this  potent  spell, 

This  charm  that  takes  us  captive,  soul  and  sense  ? 
The  sacred  power  of  music,  who  shall  tell, 

Who  find  the  secret  of  its  mastery  ? 

Lo,  in  the  keen  vibration  of  the  air 
Pierced  by  the  sweetness  of  the  violin, 

Shaken  by  thrilling  chords  and  searching  notes 
That  flood  the  ivory  keys,  the  flowers  begin 
To  tremble;  ’tis  as  if  some  spirit  floats 
And  breathes  upon  their  beauty  unaware. 

The  stately  poppies,  proud  in  stillness,  stand 
In  silken  splendor  of  superb  attire: 


BECAUSE  OF  THEE 


185 


Stricken  with  arrows  of  melodious  sound, 

Their  loosened  petals  fall  like  flakes  of  fire; 

With  waves  of  music  overwhelmed  and  drowned, 
Solemnly  drop  their  flames  on  either  hand. 

So  the  rich  moment  dies,  and  what  is  left? 

Only  a memory  sweet,  to  shut  between 
Some  poem’s  silent  leaves,  to  find  again, 

Perhaps,  when  winter  blasts  are  howling  keen, 
And  summer’s  loveliness  is  spoiled  and  slain, 

And  all  the  world  of  light  and  bloom  bereft. 

But  winter  cannot  rob  the  music  so ! 

Nor  time  nor  fate  its  subtle  power  destroy 
To  bring  again  the  summer’s  dear  caress, 

To  wake  the  heart  to  youth’s  unreasoning  joy,  — 
Sound,  color,  perfume,  love,  to  warm  and  bless, 

And  airs  of  balm  from  Paradise  that  blow. 


BECAUSE  OF  THEE 

My  life  has  grown  so  dear  to  me 
Because  of  thee! 

My  maiden  with  the  eyes  demure, 
And  quiet  mouth,  and  forehead  pure, 
Joy  makes  a summer  in  my  heart 
Because  thou  art! 


186 


FLOWERS  FOR  THE  BRAVE 


The  very  winds  melodious  be 
Because  of  thee! 

The  rose  is  sweeter  for  thy  sake, 

The  waves  in  softer  music  break, 

On  brighter  wings  the  swallows  dart, 
Because  thou  art! 

My  sky  is  swept  of  shadows  free 
Because  of  thee! 

Sorrow  and  care  have  lost  their  sting, 
The  blossoms  glow,  the  linnets  sing, 
All  things  in  my  delight  have  part, 
Because  thou  art! 


FLOWEKS  FOK  THE  BKAVE 

(decoration  DAY,  1883) 

Here  bring  your  purple  and  gold, 
Glory  of  color  and  scent; 

Scarlet  of  tulips  bold, 

Buds  blue  as  the  firmament. 

Hushed  is  the  sound  of  the  fife 
And  the  bugle  piping  clear. 

The  vivid  and  delicate  life 

In  the  soul  of  the  youthful  year 


EXPOSTULATION 


187 


We  bring  to  the  quiet  dead, 

With  a gentle  and  tempered  grief: 
O’er  the  mounds  so  mute  we  shed 
The  beauty  of  blossom  and  leaf. 

The  flashing  swords  that  were  drawn, 
No  rust  shall  their  fame  destroy! 
Boughs  rosy  as  rifts  of  dawn, 

Like  the  blush  on  the  cheek  of  joy, 

Rich  fires  of  the  gardens  and  meads 
We  kindle,  these  hearts  above ! 

What  splendor  can  match  their  deeds  ? 
What  sweetness  can  match  our  love  'l 


EXPOSTULATION 

Tears  in  those  eyes  of  blue ! 
Sparks  of  fiery  dew, 

Scornful  lightnings  that  flash 
’Twixt  dusky  lash  and  lash! 
Never  from  sorrow  grew 
That  rain  in  my  heaven  of  blue. 

Full  of  disdain  are  you, 

Scorn  for  these  fetters  new. 
Sweet,  you  were  free  too  long! 


188 


PERSISTENCE 


Love  is  a master  strong, 

Hard  are  the  words  but  true, 

None  may  his  chain  undo. 

Nay ! Let  your  heart  shine  through 
And  soften  those  eyes  of  blue! 

Glide  from  your  chilly  height, 
Banish  your  anger  bright; 

Fairest,  be  gentlest,  too, 

Fate  is  too  mighty  for  you! 


PERSISTENCE 

Skeleton  schooner,  looming  strange  on  the  far  hori- 
zon’s rim, 

Wasted  and  blurred  by  the  bitter  cold,  all  ghastly  and 
pallid  and  dim, 

Whither  goest  thou,  stiff  and  stark?  What  harbor 
locked  in  the  frost 

Steerest  thou  for,  through  the  freezing  spray  by  the 
hissing  breakers  tossed? 

Wherefore  strivest  thou,  fighting  still  to  plough  thy 
perilous  way 

Against  the  might  of  the  fierce  northwest  so  woefully, 
night  and  day  ? 


PERSISTENCE 


189 


Turn  thee  and  spread  thy  wings  so  white,  and  fly  to 
the  tropic  seas, 

Till  the  clogging  ice  that  loads  thee  now  dissolves  in  a 
torrid  breeze; 

Till  the  blazing  sun  shall  melt  the  tar  in  every  rope 
and  seam; 

Till  thy  frozen  keel  warm  tides  shall  rock  in  a languid, 
lovely  dream; 

Till  thou  liest  lapped  in  perfumes  sweet  in  some  palm- 
girdled  bay, 

Anchored  in  peace,  to  rest  at  last,  for  many  a golden 
day. 

What  cheer  can  be  in  thy  dreadful  toil,  what  hope  in 
the  raging  deep? 

What  j oy  from  out  their  troubled  voyage  can  thy  worn 
seamen  reap? 

Loosen  thy  close-reefed  canvas,  then,  fling  wide  thy 
pinions  white, 

Leap  the  long  billows,  swiftly  sail  into  the  south’s 
delight ! 

Steadfast  she  steers  to  the  bitter  north  along  the  hori- 
zon’s rim, 

Wasted  and  blurred  by  the  cruel  cold,  dull,  ghostly, 
and  pallid,  and  dim ; 


190 


POOR  LISETTE 


For  grand  are  the  will  and  courage  of  man,  and  still 
she  must  keep  her  course, 

And  though  she  perish  still  must  fight  against  nature’s 
terrible  force. 


S.  E. 

She  passes  up  and  down  life’s  various  ways 
With  noiseless  footfall  and  with  serious  air: 

Within  the  circle  of  her  quiet  days 

She  takes  of  sorrow  and  of  joy  her  share. 

In  her  bright  home,  like  some  rare  jewel  set, 

The  lustre  of  her  beauty  lives  and  glows, 

With  all  the  fragrance  of  the  violet, 

And  all  the  radiant  splendor  of  the  rose. 

As  simple  and  unconscious  as  a flower, 

And  crowned  with  womanhood’s  most  subtle  charm, 
She  blesses  her  sweet  realm  with  gentle  power, 

And  keeps  her  hearth-fires  burning  clear  and  warm. 
To  know  her  is  to  love  her.  Every  year 
Makes  her  more  precious  and  more  wise  and  dear. 

POOR  LISETTE 

Sadly  the  quails  in  the  cornland  pipe, 

Yellow  the  harvest  is  bending  ripe, 

Gayly  the  children  each  other  greet, 

Wandering  down  through  the  village  street. 


POOR  LISETTE 


191 


By  her  garden  gate  leans  poor  Lisette. 

“Her  lover, ” they  whisper,  “comes  not  yet.” 
She  looks  afar  to  the  edge  of  the  sky, 

Where  blue  and  misty  the  mountains  lie. 

What  sudden  echoes  of  fife  and  drum 
Down  the  long,  dim,  winding  valley  come! 
Oh,  bring  they  news  for  the  poor  Lisette, 
Rapture  at  last,  or  a life’s  regret? 

High  ring  the  bugle  notes  so  sweet, 

Hearer  the  rhythmic  tramp  of  feet,  — - 
What  tempest  rushes  to  clasp  Lisette, 

With  lips  so  warm  and  with  eyes  so  wet ! 

She  is  safe  in  her  lover’s  arms  at  last; 

A dreary  dream  is  the  wretched  past; 

The  music  of  joy  in  her  glad  heart  plays, 

And  morning  dawns  in  her  radiant  face: 

While  clearly  the  quails  in  the  cornland  pipe, 
And  silent  the  harvest  is  bending  ripe, 

And  the  children  shout  to  the  fife  and  drum 
That  pain  is  over  and  peace  is  come. 


192 


TO  J.  G.  W. 


TO  J.  G.  W. 

ON  HIS  SEVENTY-FIFTH  BIRTHDAY 

What  is  there  left,  I wonder, 

To  give  thee  on  this  glad  day  ? 

Vainly  I muse  and  ponder; 

What  is  there  left  to  say  ? 

There  is  winter  abroad,  and  snow, 

And  winds  that  are  chill  and  drear 

Over  the  sad  earth  blow, 

Like  the  sighs  of  the  dying  year. 

But  the  land  thou  lovest  is  warm 
At  heart  with  the  love  of  thee, 

And  breaks  into  bloom  and  charm 
And  fragrance,  that  thou  mayest  see* 

Violet,  laurel,  and  rose, 

They  are  laid  before  thy  feet, 

And  the  red  rose  deeper  glows 
At  a fate  so  proud  and  sweet. 

Gifts  and  greeting  and  blessing, 

Honor  and  praise,  are  thine; 

There  ’s  naught  left  worth  expressing 
By  any  word  or  sign! 


IN  TUSCANY 


193 


So,  like  the  rest,  I offer 
The  gift  all  gifts  above 
That  heaven  or  earth  can  proffer,  — 
Deep,  gentle,  grateful  love. 


IN  TUSCANY 

Down  San  Miniato  in  the  afternoon 

Slowly  we  drove  through  still  and  golden  air. 

’Twas  winter,  but  the  day  was  soft  as  June; 
Florence  was  spread  beneath  us,  passing  fair. 

The  matchless  city ! Set  about  with  flowers, 
Peaceful  along  her  Arno’s  banks  she  lay; 

Her  treasured  splendors,  roofs  and  domes  and  towers, 
In  tender  light  of  the  Italian  day. 

Sweet  breathed  the  roses,  glowing  far  and  wide, 

Pink,  gold,  and  crimson;  dark  in  stately  gloom 

Stood  the  thick  cypresses;  on  every  side 
The  laurestinus,  rich  with  creamy  bloom. 

And  exquisite,  pale,  sharp-leaved  olives  grew 
In  moonlight  colors,  silver-green  and  gray, 

While,  lifting  their  proud  heads  high  in  the  blue, 
Sprang  the  superb  stone-pines  beside  the  way. 


194 


IN  TUSCANY 


Oh,  wonderful,  I thought,  beyond  compare ! 

And  hushed  with  pleasure  silent  sat  and  gazed, 
When  lo ! a child’s  voice,  and  I grew  aware 
Of  loveliness  that  left  me  all  amazed. 

A little  beggar  girl,  that  leaping  came 

Forth  from  the  roadside,  reaching  out  her  hand, 
And  dancing  like  a bright  and  buoyant  flame, 
Besought  us  in  the  music  of  her  land. 

Her  eyes  were  like  a midnight  full  of  stars 
Below  the  dazzling  beauty  of  her  brows, 

Her  dusky  hair  dark  as  the  cloud  that  bars 

The  moon  in  troubled  skies  when  tempests  rouse; 

A mouth  where  lightning-sweet  the  sudden  smile 
Came,  went  and  came,  and  flashed  into  my  face, 
And  caught  my  heart,  as,  holding  fast  the  while 
The  carriage  edge,  she  ran  with  rapid  grace. 

Who  could  withstand  her  pleading,  who  resist 
The  magic  of  those  love-compelling  eyes, 

Those  lips  the  red  pomegranate  flowers  had  kissed, 
The  voice  that  charmed  like  woven  melodies ! 

Not  we ! Surely,  I thought,  imperial  blood, 

Some  priceless  current  from  a kingly  line, 


GOOD-BY,  SWEET  DAY 


195 


Ban  royal  in  her  veins,  — a sunny  flood 

That  marked  her  with  its  fine,  mysterious  sign. 

She  was  not  born  to  ask,  but  to  command; 

She  seemed  to  crown  the  wonder  of  the  day, 

The  perfect  blossom  of  that  glorious  land, 

While  her  sweet  “Grazie!  ” followed  on  our  way, 

As  down  'mid  olive,  cypress,  stately  pine, 

Among  the  roses  in  a dream  we  passed, 

Through  glamour  of  the  time  and  place  divine, 

Till  Arno's  quiet  banks  were  reached  at  last, 

And  pleasant  rest.  'Tis  years  since  those  fair  hours, 
But  their  rich  memories  live,  their  sun  and  shade, 
Beautiful  Florence  set  about  with  flowers, 

And  San  Miniato's  peerless  beggar  maid. 


GOOD-BY,  SWEET  DAY 

FOR  MUSIC 

Good-by,  sweet  day,  good-by ! 

I have  so  loved  thee,  but  I cannot  hold  thee. 
Departing  like  a dream,  the  shadows  fold  thee; 
Slowly  thy  perfect  beauty  fades  away : 

Good-by,  sweet  day ! 


196 


IN  AUTUMN 


Good-by,  sweet  day,  good-by ! 

Dear  were  thy  golden  hours  of  tranquil  splendor, 

Sadly  thou  yieldest  to  the  evening  tender 
Who  wert  so  fair  from  thy  first  morning  ray; 

Good-by,  sweet  day ! 

Good-by,  sweet  day,  good-by ! 

Thy  glow  and  charm,  thy  smiles  and  tones  and  glances, 
Vanish  at  last,  and  solemn  night  advances; 

Ah,  couldst  thou  yet  a little  longer  stay ! 

Good-by,  sweet  day ! 

Good-by,  sweet  day,  good-by! 

All  thy  rich  gifts  my  grateful  heart  remembers, 

The  while  I watch  thy  sunset’s  smouldering  embers 
Die  in  the  west  beneath  the  twilight  gray. 

Good-by,  sweet  day! 


IN  AUTUMN 

The  aster  by  the  brook  is  dead, 

And  quenched  the  goldenrod’s  brief  fire; 
The  maple’s  last  red  leaf  is  shed, 

And  dumb  the  birds’  sweet  choir. 

'T  is  life’s  November,  too.  How  swift 
The  narrowing  days  speed,  one  by  one! 


WEST-WIND 


197 


How  pale  the  waning  sunbeams  sift 
Through  clouds  of  gray  and  dun ! 

And  as  we  lose  our  wistful  hold 

On  warmth  and  loveliness  and  youth, 

And  shudder  at  the  dark  and  cold, 

Our  souls  cry  out  for  Truth. 

No  more  mirage,  0 Heavenly  Powers, 

To  mock  our  sight  with  shows  so  fair! 

We  question  of  the  solemn  hours 
That  lead  us  swiftly  — “Where ? ” 

We  hunger  for  our  lost- — in  vain! 

We  lift  our  close- clasped  hands  above, 

And  pray  God’s  pity  on  our  pain, 

And  trust  the  Eternal  Love. 


WEST-WIND 

The  barley  bows  from  the  west 
Before  the  delicate  breeze 
That  many  a sail  caressed 

As  it  swept  the  sapphire  seas. 

It  has  found  the  garden  sweet, 
And  the  poppy’s  cup  it  sways; 


198 


WEST-WIND 


Bends  the  golden  ears  of  wheat; 

And  its  dreamy  touch  it  lays 

On  the  heavy  mignonette, 

Stealing  soft  its  odors  fine, 

On  the  pansies  dewy  yet, 

On  the  phloxes  red  as  wine. 

Where  the  honeysuckle  sweet 

Storms  the  sunny  porch  with  flowers, 

Like  a tempest  of  delight 

Shaking  fragrance  down  in  showers, 

It  touches  with  airy  grace 

Each  clustering,  perfumed  spray, 

Clasps  all  in  a light  embrace, 

And  silently  wanders  away. 

Come  forth  in  the  air  divine, 

Thou  dearest,  my  crown  of  bliss! 

Give  that  flower-sweet  cheek  of  thine 
To  the  morning  breeze  to  kiss. 

Add  but  thy  perfect  presence 
To  gladden  my  happy  eyes, 

And  I would  not  change  earth’s  morning 
For  the  dawns  of  Paradise ! 


IMPATIENCE 


199 


IMPATIENCE 


E.  L. 

Only  to  follow  you,  dearest,  only  to  find  you ! 

Only  to  feel  for  one  instant  the  touch  of  your  hand; 

Only  to  tell  you  once  of  the  love  you  left  behind 
you,  — 

To  say  the  world  without  you  is  like  a desert  of 
sand; 

That  the  flowers  have  lost  their  perfume,  the  rose  its 
splendor, 

And  the  charm  of  nature  is  lost  in  a dull  eclipse; 

That  joy  went  out  with  the  glance  of  your  eyes  so 
tender, 

And  beauty  passed  with  the  lovely  smile  on  your 
lips. 

I did  not  dream  it  was  you  who  kindled  the  morning 

And  folded  the  evening  purple  in  peace  so  sweet; 

But  you  took  the  whole  world’s  rapture  without  a 
warning, 

And  left  me  naught  save  the  print  of  your  patient 
feet. 

I count  the  days  and  the  hours  that  hold  us  asunder: 

I long  for  Death’s  friendly  hand  which  shall  rend  in 
twain, 


200 


IN  THE  LANE 


With  the  glorious  lightning  flash  and  the  golden  thun- 
der, 

These  clouds  of  the  earth,  and  give  me  my  own 
again ! 


IN  THE  LANE 

By  cottage  walls  the  lilacs  blow; 

Bich  spikes  of  perfume  stand  and  sway 
At  open  casements,  where  all  day 
The  warm  wind  waves  them  to  and  fro. 

Out  of  the  shadow  of  the  door, 

Into  the  golden  morning  air, 

Comes  one  who  makes  the  day  more  fair 
And  summer  sweeter  than  before. 

The  apple  blossoms  might  have  shed 
Upon  her  cheek  the  bloom  so  rare; 

The  sun  has  kissed  her  bright  brown  hair 
Braided  about  her  graceful  head. 

Lightly  betwixt  the  lilacs  tall 

She  passes,  through  the  garden  gate, 
Across  the  road,  and  stays  to  wait 
A moment  by  the  orchard  wall; 


IN  THE  LANE 


201 


And  then  in  gracious  light  and  shade, 

Beneath  the  blossom-laden  trees, 

’Mid  song  of  birds  and  hum  of  bees, 

She  strays,  unconscious,  unafraid, 

Till  swiftly  o’er  the  grassy  space 

Comes  one  whose  step  she  fain  would  stay. 
Glad  as  the  newly  risen  day 
He  stoops  to  read  her  drooping  face. 

Her  face  is  like  the  morning  skies, 

Bright,  timid,  tender,  blushing  sweet; 

She  dares  not  trust  her  own  to  meet 
The  steady  splendor  of  his  eyes. 

He  holds  her  with  resistless  charm, 

With  truth,  with  power,  with  beauty  crowned; 
About  her  lovely  shape  is  wound 
The  strong,  safe  girdle  of  his  arm. 

And  up  and  down  through  shade  and  light 
They  wander  through  the  flying  hours, 

And  all  the  way  is  strewn  with  flowers, 

And  life  looks  like  one  long  delight. 

Ah,  happy  twain ! No  frost  shall  harm, 

No  change  shall  reach  your  bliss,  so  long 
As  keeps  its  place  the  faithful,  strong, 

Safe  girdle  of  that  folding  arm. 


202 


HER  MIRROR 


Could  you  this  simple  secret  know 
No  death  in  life  would  be  to  fear, 

When  you  may  watch,  in  some  sad  year, 
By  cottage  walls  the  lilacs  blow ! 


HER  MIRROR 

0 mirror,  whence  her  lovely  face 
Was  wont  to  look  with  radiance  sweet, 
Hast  thou  not  kept  of  her  some  trace, 
Some  memory  that  thou  mayest  repeat? 

Could  I but  find  in  thee  once  more 
Some  token  of  her  presence  dear ! 

0 mirror,  wilt  thou  not  restore 
Her  shadow  for  an  instant  here? 

Thou  couldst  not  yield  a boon  so  great. 

I see  my  own  dim  face  and  eyes 
With  love  and  longing  desolate, 

All  drowned  in  wistful  memories. 

Blindly  for  her  dear  hand  I grope ; 

There  ’s  nothing  life  can  have  in  store 
So  sweet  to  me  as  this  sweet  hope, 

To  feel  her  smile  on  me  once  more! 


FDR  CHRISTMAS 


203 


FOE  CHEISTMAS 

“Thy  own  wish  wish  I thee  in  every  place. ” 

The  Christmas  joy,  the  song,  the  feast,  the  cheer, 
Thine  be  the  light  of  love  in  every  face 

That  looks  on  thee,  to  bless  thy  coming  year. 

Thy  own  wish  wish  I thee.  What  dost  thou  crave  ? 

All  thy  dear  hopes  be  thine,  whate’er  they  be. 

A wish  fulfilled  may  make  thee  king  or  slave ; 

I wish  thee  Wisdom’s  eyes  wherewith  to  see. 

Behold,  she  stands  and  waits,  the  youthful  year ! 

A breeze  of  morning  breathes  about  her  brows ; 

She  holds  thy  storm  and  sunshine,  bliss  and  fear, 
Blossom  and  fruit  upon  the  bending  boughs. 

She  brings  thee  gifts.  What  blessing  wilt  thou 
choose  ? 

Life’s  crown  of  good  in  earth  or  heaven  above, 

The  one  immortal  joy  thou  canst  not  lose, 

Is  Love ! Leave  all  the  rest,  and  choose  thou 
Love! 


204 


AT  SET  OF  MOON 


AT  SET  OF  MOON 

The  wind  blows  from  the  stormy  quarter  and  the 
moon  is  old. 

Trouble  has  gathered  in  the  sky  so  pallid,  dim,  and 
cold. 

Can  this  be  morning?  Is  the  world  so  blank  and  out 
of  tune  ? 

Down  yonder  dim  horizon  something  fades  beside  the 
moon. 

What  is  it?  ’Tis  the  ghost  of  joy  that  made  the 
earth  so  sweet; 

Life’s  one  supreme,  bright  happiness,  that  hastes  with 
flying  feet. 

The  fading  moon  will  brighten  soon,  in  splendor  shine 
again, 

But  joy  that  was  the  life  of  life  is  merged  in  bitter 
pain. 

Last  night  I passed  her  window:  she  dreamed  not  I 
was  near. 

One  ray  slipped  through  the  jealous  curtain,  rosy- warm 
and  clear ; 

I kissed  the  flowers  on  which  it  fell,  all  dewy  cold 
were  they. 

With  patient  anguish  in  my  heart  I turned  and  stole 
away. 


MY  GARDEN 


205 


She  will  not  miss  me,  will  not  know  if  I am  here  or 
there ; 

If  I am  dead,  or  if  I live,  will  neither  know  nor  care. 

Death  is  not  bitter  as  my  grief,  which  craves  one  sin- 
gle boon,  — 

Release  me,  God!  let  my  life  fade  like  yonder  waning 
moon. 


MY  GARDEN 

It  blossomed  by  the  summer  sea,  . 

A tiny  space  of  tangled  bloom 
Wherein  so  many  flowers  found  room, 

A miracle  it  seemed  to  be ! 

Up  from  the  ground,  alert  and  bright, 

The  pansies  laughed  in  gold  and  jet, 

Purple  and  pied,  and  mignonette 

Breathed  like  a spirit  of  delight. 

Flaming  the  rich  nasturtiums  ran 
Along  the  fence,  and  marigolds 
“ Opened  afresh  their  starry  folds  99 

In  beauty  as  the  day  began; 

While  ranks  of  scarlet  poppies  gay 

Waved  when  the  soft  south- wind  did  blow, 


206 


MY  GARDEN 


Superb  in  sunshine,  to  and  fro, 

Like  soldiers  proud  in  brave  array. 

And  tall  blue  larkspur  waved  its  spikes 
Against  the  sea’s  deep  violet, 

That  every  breeze  makes  deeper  yet 
With  splendid  azure  where  it  strikes; 

And  rosy-pale  sweet-peas  climbed  up, 

And  phloxes  spread  their  colors  fine, 
Pink,  white,  and  purple,  red  as  wine, 
And  fire  burned  in  the  eschscholtzia’s  cup. 

More  dear  to  me  than  words  can  tell 
Was  every  cup  and  spray  and  leaf; 

Too  perfect  for  a life  so  brief 
Seemed  every  star  and  bud  and  bell. 

And  many  a maiden,  fairer  yet, 

Came  smiling  to  my  garden  gay, 

Whose  graceful  head  I decked  alway 
With  pansy  and  with  mignonette. 

Such  slender  shapes  of  girlhood  young 
Haunted  that  little  blooming  space, 
Each  with  a more  delightful  face 
Than  any  flower  that  ever  sprung! 


MY  GARDEN 


207 


0 shadowy  shapes  of  youthful  bloom ! 

How  fair  the  sweet  procession  glides 
Down  memory’s  swift  and  silent  tides, 
Till  lost  in  doubtful  mists  of  gloom ! 

Year  after  year  new  flowers  unfold, 

Year  after  year  fresh  maidens  fair, 
Scenting  their  perfume  on  the  air, 
Follow  and  find  their  red  and  gold. 

And  while  for  them  the  poppies’  blaze 
I gather,  brightening  into  mine 
The  eyes  of  vanished  beauty  shine, 

That  gladdened  long-lost  summer  days. 

Where  are  they  all  who  wide  have  ranged? 
Where  are  the  flowers  of  other  years? 
What  ear  the  wistful  question  hears  ? 
Ah,  some  are  dead  and  all  are  changed. 

And  still  the  constant  earth  renews 
Her  treasured  splendor;  still  unfold 
Petals  of  purple  and  of  gold 
Beneath  the  sunshine  and  the  dews. 

But  for  her  human  children  dear 
Whom  she  has  folded  to  her  breast, 

No  beauty  wakes  them  from  their  rest, 
Nor  change  they  with  the  changing  year. 


208 


LOST  AND  SAVED 


LOST  AND  SAVED 

“0  Love,”  he  whispered  low,  “Eternal  Love!” 

And  softly  twilight’s  shadows  round  them  drew, 
And  one  by  one  the  stars  grew  bright  above, 

And  warm  airs  from  the  gates  of  sunset  blew. 

Swift  o’er  the  summer  sea  they  lightly  sailed; 

The  rushing  winds,  the  rushing  waves,  sang  sweet; 
But  sweeter  than  all  sounds  the  voice  that  failed, 
Shaken  by  the  full  heart  that  strongly  heat. 

Fast  piled  the  clouds  in  darkness  south  and  east, 

Each  other’s  starry  eyes  they  only  saw. 

What  was  the  world  to  them  ? The  breeze  increased, 
And  caught  the  glimmering  sail  with  gusty  flaw. 

Low  stooped  the  mast;  the  firm  hand  at  the  helm 
Held  bravely  yet  the  light  craft  to  its  course, 
Though  hurrying  breakers  fain  would  overwhelm, 

And  the  gale  gathered  with  resistless  force. 

Black  night,  black  storm,  that  rose  in  sudden  wrath! 

All  lost  the  cheerful  stars  forgot  to  burn, 

And  death  was  waiting  silent  in  the  path, 

Along  whose  wavering  way  was  no  return. 


A ROSE  OF  JOY 


209 


Or  life  or  death  — what  mattered  it  to  them  ? 

Locked  mute  and  still  within  each  others  arms, 
They  sought  no  more  the  tempests  rage  to  stem, 
Deaf  to  the  tumult  of  the  night’s  alarms. 

Beyond  their  fate  uplifted,  death  was  naught, 

Nor  could  they  know,  borne  safe  all  pain  above, 
Into  immortal  life  together  caught, 

That  only  thus  should  live  Eternal  Love ! 


A KOSE  OF  JOY 

FOR  A BETROTHAL 

As  when  one  wears  a fragrant  rose 
Close  to  the  heart,  a rose  most  fair, 
And  while  the  day’s  life  onward  flows 
Forgets  that  it  is  fastened  there, 

And  wonders  what  delicious  charm 
Dwells  in  the  air  about,  and  whence 
Come  the  rich  wafts  of  perfume  warm 
Subtly  saluting  soul  and  sense; 

And  then,  remembering  what  it  is, 
Bends  smiling  eyes  the  flower  above, 
Adores  its  beauty  and  its  bliss 

And  looks  on  it  with  grateful  love  — 


210 


IN  SEPTEMBER 


Even  so  I wear,  0 friend  of  mine, 

The  sweet  thought  of  your  happiness; 

The  knowledge  of  your  joy  divine 
Is  fragrant  with  a power  to  bless. 

With  the  day’s  work  preoccupied 
Vaguely,  half  conscious  of  delight, 

Upborne  as  on  a buoyant  tide, 

I wonder  why  life  seems  so  bright. 

Then  memory  speaks;  then  winter  gray 
And  age  and  cares  that  have  no  end 

Touch  me  no  more.  I am  to-day 

Rich  in  the  wealth  that  cheers  my  friend. 

IN  SEPTEMBER 

Leaping  from  the  boat,  through  the  lazy,  sparkling 
surf, 

Up  the  slope  we  press,  o’er  the  rich,  elastic  turf. 

Heavy  waves  the  goldenrod  in  the  morning  breeze, 

Swift  spring  the  startled  grasshoppers,  thick  about  our 
knees. 

Look,  how  shines  the  distance!  Leagues  of  water 
blue, 

Wind-swept,  sunshine-flooded,  with  a flying  sail  or 
two, 


IN  SEPTEMBER 


211 


Gleaming  white  as  silver,  and  dreaming,  here  and 
there, 

A snowy-breasted  gull  floats  in  the  golden  air. 

How  sweet  to  climb  together  the  scented,  flowery 
slope, 

0 dearest,  hand  in  hand,  like  children  following  hope ; 

Laughing  at  the  grasshoppers,  singing  with  delight, 

Only  to  be  alive  this  September  morning  bright! 

But  where  would  be  the  beauty  of  this  brilliant  atmos- 
phere 

Wert  thou  away,  my  darling?  Would  not  the  sky  be 
drear, 

And  gray  the  living  azure  of  the  changing,  sparkling 
sea? 

And  blossoms,  birds,  and  sails,  and  clouds  — what 
would  they  be  to  me  ? 

Best  we  here  a little  upon  the  breezy  height, 

And  watch  the  play  of  color,  the  shadow,  and  the 
light, 

And  let  the  lovely  moment  overflow  us  with  its  bliss. 

When  shall  we  find  another  so  beautiful  as  this  ? 

1 turn  from  all  the  splendor  to  those  clear  eyes  of 

thine, 

That  watch  the  shimmering  sails  on  the  far  horizon 
line; 


212 


UNDER  THE  EAVES 


While  sun  and  wind  salute  thy  cheek  till  roses  blos- 
som there, 

Thou  golden  creature,  than  the  morn  a thousand  times 
more  fair! 

Ah!  must  it  end?  Must  winter  hurl  its  snow  across 
the  sea, 

And  roar  with  leagues  of  bitterness  between  thy  face 
and  me  ? 

Must  chill  December  fill  with  murk  and  storm  this 
wooing  air, 

And  the  west-wind  wail  like  the  voice  of  some  su- 
preme despair? 

Too  surely ! But,  0 friendly  eyes,  hold  summer  safe 
for  me; 

Only,  0 gentle  heart,  keep  warm  and  sweet  my  mem- 
ory; 

And  no  fury  of  the  tempest  my  world  can  desolate  — 

This  winged  joy  will  lift  my  soul  above  the  storms  of 
fate. 


UNDER  THE  EAVES 

Pleasant  above  the  city’s  din 
My  quiet  room  beneath  the  eaves; 

The  first  to  see  the  day  begin, 

The  last  the  sunshine  lingering  leaves. 


UNDER  THE  EAVES 


213 


Pleasant  upon  the  window  pane 
Uplifted  high,  so  near  the  sky, 

To  hear  the  patter  of  the  rain, 

Or  see  the  snow  go  swirling  by; 

To  watch  the  gilded  weathercocks 
In  every  eddy  turn  and  wheel; 

To  hear  the  clear,  melodious  shocks 
Of  chiming  hells  that  clang  and  peal. 

Dove-haunted  roofs  and  towers  and  spires, 
The  friendly  faces  of  the  clocks, 

The  network  of  electric  wires, 

The  sparrows  gossiping  in  flocks, 

The  smoke’s  dim,  ragged  phantoms  soft 
From  myriad  chimneys  lightly  curled, 

That  mingle  with  the  clouds  aloft 

Slow  sailing  with  the  sailing  world  — 

Pleasant  and  peaceful  all.  Most  sweet 
When  morning  and  when  evening  fires, 

Silent  above  the  busy  street, 

Touch  the  dove-haunted  roofs  and  spires. 

Neighbored  by  sparrow  and  by  dove, 

A comrade  of  the  weathercocks, 

My  quiet,  airy  perch  I love, 

The  chimney-stacks,  the  city  clocks; 


214 


NOVEMBER  MORNING 


And  thank  the  heavens  that  bend  above 
For  leave  to  find  such  deep  delight 
In  tower  and  spire  and  fluttering  dove, 
Color  and  cloud  and  sparrow’s  flight. 


NOVEMBER  MORNING 

With  clamor  the  wild  southwester 
Through  the  wide  heaven  is  roaring, 

Ploughing  the  ocean,  and  over 
The  earth  its  fury  outpouring. 

Lo,  how  the  vast  gray  spaces 
Wrestle  and  roll  and  thunder, 

Billow  piled  upon  billow, 

Closing  and  tearing  asunder, 

As  if  the  deep  raged  with  the  anger 
Of  hosts  of  the  fabulous  kraken ! 

And  the  firm  house  shudders  and  trembles, 
Beaten,  buffeted,  shaken. 

Battles  the  gull  with  the  tempest, 

Struggling  and  wavering  and  faltering, 

Soaring  and  striving  and  sinking, 

Turning,  its  high  course  altering. 


NOVEMBER  MORNING 


215 


Down  through  the  cloudy  heaven 

Notes  from  the  wild  geese  are  falling; 

Cries  like  harsh  bell-tones  are  ringing, 
Echoing,  clanging,  and  calling. 

Plunges  the  schooner  landward, 

Swiftly  the  long  seas  crossing, 

Close-reefed,  seeking  the  harbor, 

Half  lost  in  the  spray  she  is  tossing. 

A rift  in  the  roof  of  vapor ! 

And  stormy  sunshine  is  streaming 

To  color  the  gray,  wild  water 

Like  chrysoprase,  green  and  gleaming. 

Cold  and  tempestuous  ocean, 

Ragged  rock,  brine-swept  and  lonely, 

Grasp  of  the  long,  bitter  winter  — 

These  things  to  gladden  me  only ! 


Love,  dost  thou  wait  for  me  in  some  rich  land 
Where  the  gold  orange  hangs  in  odorous  calm  ? 
Where  the  clear  waters  kiss  the  flowery  strand, 
Bordered  with  shining  sand  and  groves  of  palm? 

And  while  this  bitter  morning  breaks  for  me, 
Draws  to  its  close  thy  warm,  delicious  day; 


216 


NOVEMBER  MORNING 


Lights,  colors,  perfumes,  music,  joy,  for  thee, 

For  me  the  cold,  wild  sea,  the  cloudy  gray ! 

Rises  the  red  moon  in  thy  tranquil  sky, 

Plashes  the  fountain  with  its  silver  talk, 

And  as  the  evening  wind  begins  to  sigh, 

Thy  sweet  girl's  shape  steals  down  the  garden  walk. 

And  through  the  scented  dusk  a white  robe  gleams, 
Lingering  beneath  the  starry  jasmine  sprays, 

Till  where  thy  clustered  roses  breathe  in  dreams, 

A sudden  gush  of  song  thy  light  step  stays. 

That  was  the  nightingale!  0 Love  of  mine, 

Hear’st  thou  my  voice  in  that  pathetic  song, 
Throbbing  in  passionate  cadences  divine, 

Sinking  to  silence  with  its  rapture  strong  ? 

I stretch  my  arms  to  thee  through  all  the  cold, 
Through  all  the  dark,  across  the  weary  space 
Between  us,  and  thy  slender  form  I fold, 

And  gaze  into  the  wonder  of  thy  face. 

Pure  brow  the  moonbeam  touches,  tender  eyes 
Splendid  with  feeling,  delicate  smiling  mouth, 

And  heavy  silken  hair  that  darkly  lies 

Soft  as  the  twilight  clouds  in  thy  sweet  South,  — 


IN  death’s  despite 


217 


0 beautiful  my  Love ! In  vain  I seek 

To  hold  the  heavenly  dream  that  fades  from  me. 

1 needs  must  wake  with  salt  spray  on  my  cheek, 
Flung  from  the  fury  of  this  northern  sea. 

IN  DEATH’S  DESPITE 

Whither  departs  the  perfume  of  the  rose? 

Into  what  life  dies  music’s  golden  sound? 

Year  after  year  life’s  long  procession  goes 
To  hide  itself  beneath  the  senseless  ground. 

Upon  the  grave’s  inexorable  brink 

Amazed  with  loss  the  human  creature  stands; 
Vainly  he  strives  to  reason  or  to  think, 

Left  with  his  aching  heart  and  empty  hands ; 

He  calls  his  lost  in  vain.  In  sorrow  drowned, 
Darkness  and  silence  all  his  sense  confound. 

Till  in  Death’s  roll-call  stern  he  hears  his  name, 

In  turn  he  follows  and  is  lost  to  sight; 

Though  comforted  by  love  and  crowned  by  fame, 
He  hears  the  summons  dread  no  man  may  slight. 
Sweetly  and  clear  upon  his  quiet  grave 

The  birds  shall  sing,  unmindful  of  his  dust ; 
Softly  in  turn  the  long  green  grass  shall  wave 
Over  his  fallen  head.  In  turn  he  must 
Submit  to  be  forgotten,  like  the  rest, 

Though  high  the  heart  that  beat  within  his  breast. 


218 


A SONG  OF  HOPE 


The  rose  falls  and  the  music's  sound  is  gone; 

Dear  voices  cease,  and  clasp  of  loving  hands; 

Alone  we  stand  when  the  brief  day  is  done, 

Searching  with  saddened  eyes  earth's  darkening 
lands. 

Worthless  as  is  the  lightest  fallen  leaf 

We  seem,  yet  constant  as  the  night's  first  star 
Kindles  our  deathless  hope,  and  from  our  grief 
Is  born  the  trust  no  misery  can  mar, 

That  Love  shall  lift  us  all  despair  above, 

Shall  conquer  death,  — yea,  Love,  and  only  Love ! 


A SONG  OF  HOPE 

The  morning  breaks,  the  storm  is  past.  Behold ! 

Along  the  west  the  lift  grows  bright,  — the  sea 
Leaps  sparkling  blue  to  catch  the  sunshine's  gold, 
And  swift  before  the  breeze  the  vapors  flee. 

Light  cloud-flocks  white  that  troop  in  joyful  haste 
Up  and  across  the  pure  and  tender  sky; 

Light  laughing  waves  that  dimple  all  the  waste 
And  break  upon  the  rocks  and  hurry  by ! 

Flying  of  sails,  of  clouds,  a tumult  sweet, 

Wet,  tossing  buoys,  a warm  wild  wind  that  blows 


OUR  SOLDIERS 


219 


The  pennon  out  and  rushes  on  to  greet 

Thy  lovely  cheek  and  heighten  its  soft  rose ! 

Beloved,  beloved!  Is  there  no  morning  breeze 
To  clear  our  sky  and  chase  our  mists  away, 

Like  this  great  air  that  sweeps  the  freshening  seas, 
And  wakes  the  old  sad  world  to  glad  new  day  ? 

Sweeter  than  morning,  stronger  than  the  gale, 
Deeper  than  ocean,  warmer  than  the  sun, 

My  love  shall  climb,  shall  claim  thee,  shall  prevail 
Against  eternal  darkness,  dearest  one! 

OUR  SOLDIERS 

Peace  smiles  over  hamlet  and  city, 

Peace  broods  over  mountain  and  stream, 
Our  tears  of  anguish  and  pity 
Are  a half-forgotten  dream. 

The  tempest  of  battle  is  ended, 

And  our  dear,  delivered  land 
Stands  free  in  the  sunshine  splendid, 

No  stain  upon  her  hand. 

What  shall  we  do  to  honor 
Her  dauntless  sons  to-day, 

Who  shed  such  glory  upon  her, 

Striking  her  chains  away  ? 


220 


TWO 


Fair  floats  the  banner  o’er  her,  — 

What  did  not  her  children  give  ? 

They  cast  their  lives  before  her, 

Dying  that  she  might  live. 

Kemember  them,  praise  them,  love  them, 
The  noble  hearts  and  brave! 

May  earth  lie  lightly  above  them 
In  many  a nameless  grave. 

Great  was  their  high  endeavor, 

Great  is  their  glorious  meed; 

Honor  our  heroes  forever, 

Praise  them  with  word  and  deed! 

TWO 

She  turned  the  letter’s  rustling  page;  her  smile 
Made  bright  the  air  about  her  while  she  read : 

“I  come  to  you  to-morrow,  love;  meanwhile 
Love  me,  my  sweet,”  he  said. 

“What  other  business  has  my  life?  ” she  thought, 
And  musing  passed,  as  in  some  happy  dream, 

To  the  day’s  care  and  toils,  and  while  she  wrought 
Time  winged  with  light  did  seem. 

To-morrow ! When  the  summer  morning  broke 
In  rose  and  gold,  and  touched  her  slumbering  eyes 


TWO 


221 


Softly,  with  tempered  splendor,  and  she  woke 
To  the  rich  dawn’s  surprise, 

Birds  sang  aloft  and  roses  bloomed  below; 

Flushed  wide  the  tender  fleecy  mists  above; 

Came  Memory,  leading  Hope,  and  whispered  low, 
“Love  me!  I come,  my  love.” 

“So  that  thou  comest,”  she  thought,  “skies  may  grow 
gray, 

The  sun  may  fade,  the  sea  with  foam  blanch  white, 
Tempest  and  thunder  dread  may  spoil  the  day, 

But  not  my  deep  delight.” 

O sweet  and  awful  Love ! 0 power  supreme, 

Mighty  and  sacred,  terrible  art  thou! 

Beside  thee  Life  and  Death  are  but  a dream ; 

Before  thee  all  must  bow. 

When  in  the  west  the  sunset’s  crimson  flame 

Burned  low  and  wasted,  and  the  cool  winds  blew, 
Watching  the  steadfast  sky  she  heard  her  name 
Breathed  in  the  voice  she  knew. 

Joy  shook  her  heart,  nor  would  its  pulse  be  stilled; 

Her  fair  cheek  borrowed  swift  the  sunset’s  bloom. 

A presence  beautiful  and  stately  filled 
The  silence  of  the  room. 


222 


COMPENSATION 


“Hast  thou  no  word  of  welcome  ? ” for  indeed 
Like  some  mute  marble  goddess  proud  stood  she; 

She  turned.  “0  king  of  men!”  she  cried,  “what 
need 

That  I should  welcome  thee  ? ” 

Her  eyes  divine  beneath  her  solemn  brows 

Met  his  clear  gaze  and  measured  strength  for 
strength. 

She  drooped,  as  to  the  sun  the  lily  bows, 

Into  his  arms  at  length. 

Wide  swung  heaven’s  gates  for  them;  no  more  they 
knew. 

The  silent  stars  looked  in,  they  saw  them  not. 

The  slow  winds  wandered  soft  through  dusk  and  dew, 
But  earth  was  all  forgot. 

COMPENSATION 

In  that  new  world  toward  which  our  feet  are  set, 
Shall  we  find  aught  to  make  our  hearts  forget 
Earth’s  homely  joys  and  her  bright  hours  of  bliss? 
Has  heaven  a spell  divine  enough  for  this  ? 

For  who  the  pleasure  of  the  spring  shall  tell, 

When  on  the  leafless  stalk  the  brown  buds  swell, 
When  the  grass  brightens  and  the  days  grow  long, 
And  little  birds  break  out  in  rippling  song? 


COMPENSATION 


223 


Oh  sweet  the  dropping  eve,  the  blush  of  morn, 

The  starlit  sky,  the  rustling  fields  of  corn, 

The  soft  airs  blowing  from  the  freshening  seas, 

The  sun-flecked  shadow  of  the  stately  trees, 

The  mellow  thunder  and  the  lulling  rain, 

The  warm,  delicious,  happy  summer  rain, 

When  the  grass  brightens  and  the  days  grow  long, 
And  little  birds  break  out  in  rippling  song! 

0 beauty  manifold,  from  morn  till  night, 

Dawn’s  flush,  noon’s  blaze,  and  sunset’s  tender  light! 
O fair,  familiar  features,  changes  sweet 
Of  her  revolving  seasons,  storm  and  sleet 
And  golden  calm,  as  slow  she  wheels  through  space 
From  snow  to  roses,  — and  how  dear  her  face 
When  the  grass  brightens  and  the  days  grow  long, 
And  little  birds  break  out  in  rippling  song ! 

0 happy  Earth!  0 home  so  well  beloved! 

What  recompense  have  we,  from  thee  removed  h 
One  hope  we  have  that  overtops  the  whole,  — 

The  hope  of  finding  every  vanished  soul 
We  love  and  long  for  daily,  and  for  this 
Gladly  we  turn  from  thee  and  all  thy  bliss, 

Even  at  thy  loveliest,  when  the  days  are  long, 

And  little  birds  break  out  in  rippling  song. 


224 


JOY 


SONNET 

Back  from  life’s  coasts  the  ebbing  tide  had  drawn, 
The  singing  tide  that  brimmed  with  joy  the  shore: 
The  torch  of  sunset  and  the  blush  of  dawn 
Seemed  to  have  lost  their  glow  forevermore, 

There  was  such  silence  in  the  empty  sky! 

And  Nature  mocked  me,  grown  so  cold  and  dumb, 
And  Eaith,  I thought,  had  perished  utterly, 

Nor  knew  I whence  a ray  of  hope  should  come; 
When,  like  a royal  messenger  of  good 

Sent  to  some  sad  and  famine-stricken  land, 

Across  my  threshold  dark  you  passed,  and  stood, 
Bearing  the  keys  of  heaven  in  your  hand ; 

And  wide  the  bright,  resounding  gates  you  threw ! 
Tell  me,  0 friend,  what  I shall  do  for  you ! 


JOY 

J o y breathes  in  the  sweet  airs  of  spring, 
And  in  the  shy  wild  blossom  hides, 

And  soars  upon  the  swallow’s  wing, 

And  with  the  singing  water  glides. 

Where  lilies  stand,  a fragrant  crowd, 

Bocked  by  the  warm  south  wind  he  lies; 


BELOVED 


225 


And  dreams  upon  the  balmy  cloud 
Soft  floating  in  the  tender  skies; 

Shines  clear  from  out  the  crescent  sharp, 
Glittering  above  the  sunset’s  red, 

And  of  the  west  wind  makes  a harp, 
And  gleams  in  starlight  overhead. 

Joy  mantles  in  the  golden  wine, 

Joy  to  earth’s  humblest  doth  descend, 
And  looks  at  me  with  cheer  divine 
From  out  the  dear  eyes  of  my  friend. 


BELOVED 

A strong  sweet  tide  toward  the  lonely  shore 
Sets  steadfastly,  till  every  inlet  sings, 

And  to  the  waiting  silence,  blank  before, 

Its  full  refreshment  brings. 

Through  the  day’s  business  passing  to  and  fro, 
Ever  she  grows  more  conscious  of  the  charm 
Upholding  her  wherever  she  may  go, 

Like  some  enfolding  arm. 

For  this  dear  joy  all  days  more  fair  do  seem, 

The  night’s  repose  more  blissful  and  more  deep, 


226 


THE  ANSWER 


As  pillowed  on  the  breast  of  this  sweet  dream 
Softly  she  falls  asleep. 

Safe  is  she,  lifted  all  earth’s  ills  above; 

No  storm  can  break  her  calm,  no  evil  reach 
Within  the  charmed  circle  drawn  by  Love, 

Blest  beyond  thought  or  speech. 

0 maiden,  dream  thy  dream!  Life’s  crown  of  thorns, 
Draws  it  not  down,  unseen,  about  thy  brows  ? 

The  glory  of  thy  summer  eves  and  morns 
Stern  winter  shall  espouse. 

Within  this  Eden  of  thy  sweet  content 

No  mortal  stays,  — that,  the  great  gods  forbid; 

But  canst  thou  learn  that  in  thy  banishment 
A higher  good  lies  hid  ? 


THE  ANSWER 

The  blossoms  blush  on  the  hough, 
And  the  air  is  full  of  song, 

Oh  give  me  my  answer  now, 

Dear  Love,  I have  waited  long! 

The  blossoms  mantle  and  flush,  — 

I see  hut  the  rose  in  your  cheek,  — 


SONG 


227 


And  the  birds  their  music  hush, 

For  the  fate  your  lips  may  speak. 

I listen  for  life  or  death, 

With  hope’s  deep  rapture  stirred, 

And  faint  as  the  blossoms’  breath 
Comes  your  low,  delicious  word. 

And  the  earth  reels  under  my  feet,  — 

0 blossoms  that  burn  on  the  bough ! — 
With  the  strength  of  a joy  so  sweet, 

For  I have  my  answer  now ! 


SONG 

Past  the  point  and  by  the  beach, 

Oh  but  the  waves  ran  merrily, 
With  laughter  light  and  silver  speech, 
And  red  the  sunset  flushed  the  sea. 

Two  lovers  wandered  side  by  side, — 
Oh  but  the  waves  ran  merrily; 
They  watched  the  rushing  of  the  tide, 
And  fairer  than  a dream  was  she. 

About  her  slender  waist  was  cast  — 
Oh  but  the  waves  ran  merrily  — 


228 


AUGUST 


His  strong  right  arm  that  held  her  fast, 

A zone  that  clasped  her  royally. 

He  gazed  in  her  bewildering  face,— 

Oh  but  the  waves  ran  merrily : 

“ See  how  the  waves  each  other  chase ! 

So  follow  all  my  thoughts  to  thee.” 

“And  seest  thou  yonder  star?  ” she  said,— 

Oh  but  the  waves  ran  merrily,  — 

“ Superb  in  yonder  evening-red  ? 

So  dost  thou  light  my  life  for  me ! ” 

’Twas  long  ago  that  star  did  shine, — 

Oh  but  the  waves  ran  merrily; 

Love  made  for  them  the  world  divine 
In  that  old  time  beside  the  sea. 

The  soft  wind  sighs,  the  great  sea  rolls,  — 

Oh  but  the  waves  run  merrily; 

What  has  Time  done  with  those  two  souls  ? 
And  Love,  who  charmed  them,  where  is  he  ? 

AUGUST 

Buttercup  nodded  and  said  good-by, 

Clover  and  daisy  went  off  together, 

But  the  fragrant  water-lilies  lie 

Yet  moored  in  the  golden  August  weather. 


SONG 


229 


The  swallows  chatter  about  their  flight, 

The  cricket  chirps  like  a rare  good  fellow, 

The  asters  twinkle  in  clusters  bright, 

While  the  corn  grows  ripe  and  the  apples  mellow. 


SONG 

A bird  upon  a rosy  bough 

Sang  low  and  long,  sang  late  and  loud, 
Until  the  young  moon’s  silver  prow 
Was  lost  behind  a bar  of  cloud. 

The  south  wind  paused  and  held  its  breath  — 
Sing  loud  and  late,  sing  low  and  long  — 
While  sweet  as  Love  and  sad  as  Death 
The  matchless  notes  rose  wild  and  strong. 

They  rang  with  rapture,  loss  and  change,  — 
Sing  low  and  late,  sing  long  and  loud  — 

A tumult  passionate  and  strange, 

A speechless  grief,  a patience  proud; 

Till  with  “farewell  for  evermore/’  — 

Sing  late  and  loud,  sing  low  and  long,  — 
Like  waves  that  kiss  a barren  shore 
In  sobbing  cadence  died  the  song. 


230  “OH  TELL  ME  NOT  OF  HEAVENLY  HALLS 


“OH  TELL  ME  NOT  OF  HEAVENLY  HALLS 99 

Oh  tell  me  not  of  heavenly  halls, 

Of  streets  of  pearl  and  gates  of  gold, 

Where  angel  nnto  angel  calls 

’Mid  splendors  of  the  sky  untold; 

My  homesick  heart  would  backward  turn 
To  find  this  dear,  familiar  earth, 

To  watch  its  sacred  hearth-fires  burn, 

To  catch  its  songs  of  joy  or  mirth. 

I ’d  lean  from  out  the  heavenly  choir 
To  hear  once  more  the  red  cock  crow, 

What  time  the  morning’s  rosy  fire 
O’er  hill  and  field  began  to  glow. 

To  hear  the  ripple  of  the  rain, 

The  summer  waves  at  ocean’s  brim, 

To  hear  the  sparrow  sing  again 
I ’d  quit  the  wide-eyed  cherubim! 

I care  not  what  heaven’s  glories  are; 

Content  am  I.  More  joy  it  brings 
To  watch  the  dandelion’s  star 

Than  mystic  Saturn’s  golden  rings. 


MIDSUMMER 


231 


And  yet  — and  yet,  0 dearest  one ! 

My  comfort  from  life’s  earliest  breath  — 
To  follow  thee  where  thou  art  gone 

Through  those  dim,  awful  gates  of  Death, 

To  find  thee,  feel  thy  smile  again, 

To  have  eternity’s  long  day 
To  tell  my  grateful  love,  — why,  then, 

Both  heaven  and  earth  might  pass  away! 


MIDSUMMER 

White  as  a blossom  is  the  kerchief  quaint 
Over  her  sumptuous  shoulders  lightly  laid; 

Fairer  than  any  picture  men  could  paint, 

In  the  cool  orchard’s  fragrant  light  and  shade 

She  stands  and  waits:  some  pensive  dream  enfolds 
Her  beauty  sweet,  and  bows  her  radiant  head; 

The  delicate  pale  roses  that  she  holds 

Seem  to  have  borrowed  of  her  cheek  their  red. 

She  waits  like  some  superb  but  drooping  flower 
To  feel  the  touch  of  morning  and  the  sun, 

And  o’er  her  head  the  glowing  petals  shower, 

And  to  her  feet  the  shifting  sunbeams  run. 


232 


NEW  YEAR  SONG 


I follow  to  her  feet  their  pathway  fine, 

And  while  my  voice  the  charmed  silence  breaks, 
What  startled  splendors  from  her  deep  eyes  shine ! 
Into  what  glory  my  rich  flower  awakes! 

NEW  YEAE  SONG 

0 Sorrow,  go  thy  way  and  leave  me ! 

Weary  am  I of  thee,  thou  Sorrow  old. 

Unclasp  thy  hand  from  mine  and  cease  to  grieve  me, 
Eade  like  the  winter  sunset  dim  and  cold. 

Depart,  and  trouble  me  no  longer ! 

Die ! Vanish  with  forgotten  yesterdays. 

Eastward  the  darkness  melts,  the  light  grows  stronger, 
And  dawn  breaks  sweet  across  the  shrouding  haze. 

Die  and  depart,  Old  Year,  old  Sorrow ! 

Welcome,  0 morning  air  of  health  and  strength! 

0 glad  New  Year,  bring  us  new  hope  to-morrow, 

With  blossom,  leaf,  and  fruitage  bright  at  length. 


CAPTUEED 
Nanette  ! 

Can  you  not  teach  me  to  forget? 

It  is  so  hard  to  understand ! 

You  would  not  lift  your  slender  hand 


CAPTURED 


233 


To  keep  me  yours,  yet  must  I be 
Yours  only,  yours  eternally, 

Though  ’neath  the  chain  I strive  and  fret, 
Nanette ! 

That  golden  hour  when  first  we  met, 

Like  the  swift  inundating  sea 
Love’s  tide  swept  in  and  conquered  me. 
Love  uttered  Love’s  supremest  word, 

A moment  you  were  touched  and  stirred; 
Ah,  that  ’s  the  anguish  of  regret, 

Nanette ! 

My  every  thought  on  you  was  set; 

I poured  for  you  Love’s  priceless  wine, 
You  could  no  more  its  power  divine 
Than  one  small  blossom’s  cup  of  gold 
The  boundless  firmament  could  hold: 

My  eyes  with  scornful  tears  are  wet, 
Nanette ! 

This  withered  spray  of  mignonette 
You  gave  me,  from  my  heart  I take, 

This  sick,  sad  heart  you  taught  to  ache, 
And  fling  it  in  the  restless  sea  — 

I would  my  thought  of  you  could  be 
So  flung  away  from  me ; and  yet, 

Nanette ! 

I cannot  break  the  cruel  net, 

Though  I may  curse  my  fate  and  swear 
You  are  not  kind,  nor  good,  nor  fair, 


234 


FAITH 


You  ’ll  hold  me  by  one  silken  tress, 
Or  eyelid’s  down-dropped  loveliness, 
A touch  of  hand,  or  tone  of  voice, 

Or  smile  that  all  my  will  destroys: 
Ah  Heaven!  the  only  boon  I crave 
Is  rest,  the  silence  of  the  grave. 
Release  me ! Teach  me  to  forget, 
Nanette ! 


FAITH 

Fain  would  I hold  my  lamp  of  life  aloft 

Like  yonder  tower  built  high  above  the  reef; 
Steadfast,  though  tempests  rave  or  winds  blow  soft, 
Clear,  though  the  sky  dissolve  in  tears  of  grief. 

For  darkness  passes,  storms  shall  not  abide: 

A little  patience  and  the  fog  is  past. 

After  the  sorrow  of  the  ebbing  tide 

The  singing  flood  returns  in  joy  at  last. 

The  night  is  long  and  pain  weighs  heavily, 

But  God  will  hold  his  world  above  despair. 

Look  to  the  East,  where  up  the  lucid  sky 

The  morning  climbs ! The  day  shall  yet  be  fair ! 


AT  DAWN 


235 


AT  DAWN 

Early  this  morning  waking, 

I heard  the  sandpipers  call, 

And  the  sea  on  the  shore  was  breaking 
With  a dreamy  rise  and  fall. 

The  dawn  that  was  softly  blushing 
Touched  cloud  and  wave  with  rose, 

And  the  sails  in  the  west  were  flushing, 
No  breeze  stirred  their  repose. 

What  tone  in  the  water’s  falling 
Had  reached  me  while  I dreamed  ? 

What  sound  in  the  wild  birds’  calling 
Like  a heavenly  greeting  seemed  ? 

What  meant  the  delicate  splendor 
That  brightened  the  conscious  morn 

With  a radiance  fresh  and  tender 
Crowning  the  day  newborn  ? 

All  nature’s  musical  voices 
Whispered,  “Awake  and  see! 

Awake,  for  the  day  rejoices!” 

What  news  had  the  morn  for  me  ? 


236 


IN  A HORSE-CAR 


Then  I remembered  the  blessing 
So  sweet,  0 friend,  so  near! 
The  joy  beyond  all  expressing,  — 
To-day  you  would  be  here. 


IN  A HORSE-CAR 

I wondered  what  power  possessed  the  place 
As  I took  my  seat  in  the  motley  crowd, 

And  glancing  swiftly  from  face  to  face 

Of  the  poor  and  mean,  and  the  rich  and  proud, 

And  all  the  stages  betwixt  the  two 
That  daily  travel  the  iron  track, 

I stopped  at  a young  face  fresh  as  dew, 

Framed  in  white  with  a hood  of  black. 

’Twas  a little  Sister  of  Charity; 

Oh  young  and  slender,  oh  sweet  and  calm ! 

Like  a pensive  moonbeam  pale  was  she, 

With  her  fair  hands  folded  palm  to  palm. 

And  a delicate  beauty  of  high  repose, 

A sacred  peace,  as  if  far  withdrawn 

From  the  hard  world’s  din,  like  a cloistered  rose, 
She  blossomed  pure  as  the  breath  of  dawn. 


IN  A HORSE-CAR 


237 


I marveled  much  how  a girl  like  this 

In  her  Maytime  splendor  could  turn  away 

From  the  brimming  cup  of  her  youth's  bright  bliss, 
To  succor  the  sorrowful  day  by  day. 

And  yet  when  I looked  at  her  once  more, 

With  her  lofty  aspect  of  tempered  cheer, 

All  the  joys  of  the  earth  seemed  vain  and  poor 
To  the  lovely  record  written  here. 

And  I felt  how  true  it  is,  how  sure 
That  every  good  deed  adds  a light 

To  the  human  face,  not  there  before, 

While  every  ill  thing  leaves  its  blight. 

It  does  not  follow  that  women  and  men 
Must  live  in  a cloister  to  work  for  God; 

There  's  enough  to  do,  to  the  dullest  ken, 

In  the  great  world's  paths  spread  wide  abroad. 

And  the  good  or  ill  of  the  life  we  lead 
Is  sculptured  clear  pn  the  countenance; 

Be  it  love  and  goodness,  or  sin  and  greed, 

Who  runs  may  read  at  a single  glance. 


238 


A VALENTINE 


A VALENTINE 

What  is  the  whole  world  worth,  Dear, 
Weighed  against  love  and  truth? 

Sweet  is  the  spring  to  the  earth,  Dear, 
Bright  is  the  blossom  of  youth: 

And  the  skies  of  summer  are  tender 
In  fullness  of  life  and  strength, 

And  rich  is  the  autumn  splendor, 

But  winter  comes  at  length. 

Tell  me,  what  spell  shall  charm  us 
When  the  golden  days  expire  ? 

What  is  there  left  to  warm  us 
Save  Love’s  most  sacred  fire? 

While  on  the  soul’s  high  altar 
Its  clear  light  burns  secure, 

Though  the  step  of  joy  may  falter, 

And  the  glad  years  are  no  more, 

The  frosts  of  age  are  naught,  Dear! 

I clasp  thy  hand  in  mine 

Eondly  as  when  youth  sought,  Dear^ 

To  be  thy  Valentine, 


WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 


239 


WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

The  tide  flows  up,  the  tide  flows  down : 
The  water  brims  the  creek  and  falls ; 

A cottage  weather-stained  and  brown 
Lifts  at  the  brink  its  time-worn  walls. 

Beneath  the  lowly  window  sill 
Two  little  beds  of  blossoms  gay 
The  wandering  airs  with  fragrance  fill, 
Sweeten  the  night  and  charm  the  day. 

The  tide  flows  up,  the  tide  flows  down: 
From  the  low  window’s  humble  square 
A woman  in  a faded  gown, 

With  care- dimmed  eyes  and  tangled  hair, 

Looks  out  across  the  smiling  space 
Where  golden  suns  and  stars  unfold: 
Blue  larkspur,  the  pied  pansy’s  face, 
Nasturtium  bells  of  scarlet  bold,  — 

She  sees  them  not,  nor  cares,  nor  knows. 
A man’s  rough  figure  noon  and  night 
And  morning  o’er  the  threshold  goes,  — 
No  sense  has  he  for  their  delight. 


240 


BETROTHED 


The  tide  flows  up,  the  tide  flows  down: 

In  that  dull  house  a little  maid 
Lives  lonely,  under  Fortune's  frown, 

A life  unchildlike  and  afraid. 

To  her  that  tiny  garden-plot 
Means  heaven.  She  comes  at  eve  to  stand 
'Mid  mallow  and  forget-me-not 
And  marigolds  on  either  hand. 

They  look  at  her  with  brilliant  eyes, 

Their  scent  is  greeting  and  caress; 

They  spread  their  rich  and  glowing  dyes 
Her  saddened  soul  to  cheer  and  bless. 

The  tide  flows  up,  the  tide  flows  down: 
Within,  how  base  the  life  and  poor ! 
Without,  what  wealth  and  beauty  crown 
The  humble  flowers  beside  the  door ! 


BETROTHED 

Softly  the  flickering  firelight  comes  and  goes; 

The  warm  glow  flashes,  sinks,  departs,  returns, 
And  shows  me  where  the  delicate  red  rose 
In  the  tall,  slender  vase  of  crystal  burns. 


BETROTHED 


241 


The  tempest  beats  without.  The  hush  within 
Is  sweeter  for  the  turmoil  of  the  night; 

Ice  clatters  at  the  pane  and  snowflakes  spin 
A web  of  woven  storm,  a shroud  of  white. 

Its  secret  the  wild  winter  weather  keeps, 

No  sound  transpires  except  the  tempest’s  breath; 

Locked  in  the  frost  the  muffled  pathway  sleeps, 

For  any  human  token  still  as  death. 

My  eyes  the  room’s  familiar  aspect  hold, 

Its  quiet  beauty  and  its  sumptuous  gloom, 

Its  glimmering  draperies  of  dull  rich  gold, 

The  gleam  upon  the  burnished  peacock’s  plume. 

My  rose,  my  book,  my  work,  I see  them  all, 

With  my  whole  soul  surrendered  to  one  sense, 

My  life  within  my  ears,  for  one  footfall 

Listening  with  patience  breathless  and  intense. 

’T  is  my  heart  hears,  at  last,  the  silent  door 
Swing  on  its  hinges,  there  ’s  no  need  the  fire 

Should  show  me  whose  step  thrills  the  conscious  floor, 
As  suddenly  the  wayward  flame  leaps  higher. 

Thou  comest,  bringing  all  good  things  that  are ! 

Infinite  joy,  and  peace  with  white  wings  furled, 

All  heaven  is  here  and  thou  the  morning-star, 

Thou  splendor  of  my  life ! “ Thou  Day  o’  the  world ! ” 


242 


QUESTIONS 


QUESTIONS 

The  steadfast  planet  spins  through  space, 

And  into  darkness,  into  light 
Swiftly  it  wheels  its  living  face: 

“’Tis  day,”  we  say,  or  “It  is  night.” 

And  we  who  cling  and  with  it  turn, 

Till  spent  is  our  brief  span  of  years, 
Watching  our  sister  stars  that  burn 
Through  the  dim  trouble  of  our  tears, 

We  question  of  the  silence  vast, 

Of  souls  that  people  distant  spheres; 

What  of  their  future  and  their  past  ? 

Have  they  our  sorrows,  joys,  and  fears? 

Do  the  same  flowers  make  glad  their  sight? 

The  same  birds  sing  ? On  their  great  seas 
Do  ships  like  ours,  with  canvas  white, 

Move  stately,  answering  to  the  breeze  ? 

Have  they  their  Christ,  their  Christmas  Day  ? 

Know  they  Mahomet?  Buddha?  One, 

Or  all  or  none  ? And  do  they  pray  ? 

And  have  they  wrought  as  we  have  done  ? 


QUESTIONS 


243 


We  cannot  guess;  ’t  is  hard  indeed, 

Our  own  orb’s  tale  of  its  dim  past 
Through  centuries  untold  to  read, 

And  who  its  future  shall  forecast? 

We  only  know  it  keeps  its  place, 

An  atom  in  the  universe, 

As  through  the  awful  realms  of  space 
The  mighty  hosts  of  stars  disperse. 

We  know  the  hand  that  holds  in  check 
The  whirling  worlds,  each  in  its  course, 
And  saves  the  universe  from  wreck 
And  peril,  this  tremendous  Force 

Holds  likewise  all  our  little  lives; 

The  suns  and  stars  do  all  obey 
His  bidding,  never  planet  strives 
To  swerve  from  its  appointed  way. 

The  dangerous  boon  alone  to  us 

Is  given,  to  choose  ’twixt  ill  and  well, 
Rebellion  or  obedience,  — thus 

To  build  our  heaven,  or  dig  our  hell. 

But  one  great  thought  our  strength  upholds : 

Nothing  shall  perish!  Though  his  rod 
Smites  sore,  his  mercy  still  enfolds 

His  own;  God’s  souls  are  safe  with  God. 


244 


TYRE  AND  SIDON 


TYEE  AND  SIDON 

Be  thou  ashamed,  0 Sidon,  saith  the  sea ! 

The  loud  voice  of  the  world  is  in  thine  ears, 

The  world  thy  service  hath  and  ruleth  thee, 

Thou  givest  unto  vanity  thy  years. 

Hearken,  0 Tyre ! For  God  stretched  forth  his  hand 
Over  the  sea  and  He  the  kingdoms  shook, 

The  broad  earth  quaked  at  breath  of  his  command, 
From  thy  proud  head  the  gleaming  crown  He  took. 

Is  this  the  joyous  city  wont  to  boast 
Antiquity  of  ancient  days  ? Behold 
Her  feet  shall  carry  her  afar,  her  ghost 
Shall  mourn  in  desolation  and  in  cold. 

Because  the  promise  of  Eternal  life 

And  endless  glory  and  unchanging  good 
Was  naught  to  her,  and  she  chose  sin  and  strife, 

Yain  mocking  shows,  and  empty  husks  for  food; 

Because  so  eagerly  she  served  the  world 

Choosing  the  base  and  temporal  things  it  gave, 
Down  from  her  throne  her  haughtiness  is  hurled, 

And  all  her  pride  is  leveled  to  a grave. 


HJELMA 


245 


HJELMA 

Stands  Hjelma  at  her  lady’s  chair, 

Serving  with  ready  hands, 

About  her  head  her  shining  hair 
Braided  in  golden  strands. 

A rose  blooms  in  her  maiden  cheek, 

And  on  her  mouth’s  repose 
A sweet  content  she  cannot  speak 
Is  lovelier  than  the  rose. 

“What  is  that  shrill  and  sudden  cry, 

My  little  maiden  ? Say ! ” 

“The  wild  wind  shakes  the  windows  high, 
And  tears  the  sea  to  spray; 

“Oh  see  you  not  the  black,  black  sky, 

My  mistress  dear  ? ” cries  she. 

“The  squall  comes  down,  the  waves  run  high; 
Oh  hear  you  not  the  sea? 

“Oh  glad  am  I the  boats  are  in, 

And  little  Nils  and  Lars 
Are  safe,  before  the  waves  begin 
To  leap  across  the  stars ! ” 


246 


HJELMA 


And  up  and  down  and  here  and  there 
She  goes  with  willing  feet, 

So  busy,  with  that  gentle  air 
Of  still  contentment  sweet ! 

At  the  far  reef,  since  morning  light, 
All  day  her  brothers  twain 
About  the  wreck  of  yesternight 

Have  worked  with  might  and  main. 

She  knows  not  when  the  cruel  gale 
Made  wild  the  waning  day, 

It  seized  upon  their  shivering  sail 
And  flung  their  skiff  away. 

She  knows  not  they  are  driven,  lost, 
Over  the  roaring  brine, 

Toward  the  dim,  billow-beaten  coast, 
While  heaven  will  make  no  sign, 

But  scatters  down  its  freezing  snow 
To  hide  the  fading  light, 

And  drives  its  hurricane  below 
To  fright  the  shuddering  night. 

She  hums  her  sweet  Norwegian  songs, 
She  lights  the  lamps,  and  smiles ; 


MY  HOLLYHOCK 


247 


The  breakers  rush  in  raging  throngs 
Across  the  lonely  miles. 

And  where  is  handsome  Lars,  so  tall? 

And  where  is  Nils,  so  dear? 

Upon  her  soul  no  shadows  fall, 

Nor  any  hint  of  fear. 

And  who  shall  speak  to  break  the  spell? 

And  who  will  deal  the  blow  ? 

The  brothers  twain  she  loved  so  well, 
Their  fate  must  Hjelma  know! 

Loud  thunders  on  the  savage  storm, 
With  deep,  defiant  roar; 

Unconscious  in  her  shelter  warm 
She  hears  it  lash  the  shore. 

And  brightly  shines  her  braided  hair, 
And  on  her  mouth’s  repose 
Is  sweet  content,  untouched  by  care, 
And  on  her  cheek  the  rose. 

MY  HOLLYHOCK 

Ah  me,  my  scarlet  hollyhock, 

Whose  stately  head  the  breezes  rock, 
How  sad,  that  in  one  night  of  frost 


248 


MY  HOLLYHOCK 


Thy  radiant  beauty  shall  be  lost, 

And  all  thy  glory  overthrown 
Ere  half  thy  ruby  buds  have  blown! 

All  day  across  my  window  low 
Thy  flowery  stalk  sways  to  and  fro 
Against  a background  of  blue  sea. 

On  the  south  wind,  to  visit  thee, 

Come  airy  shapes  in  sumptuous  dyes,  — 
Rich  golden,  black-edged  butterflies, 

And  humming-birds  in  emerald  coats, 
With  flecks  of  fire  upon  their  throats, 
That  in  the  sunshine  whir  and  glance, 
And  probe  the  flowers  with  slender  lance; 
And  many  a drunken,  drowsy  bee, 

Singing  his  song  hilariously. 

About  the  garden  fluttering  yet, 

In  amber  plumage  freaked  with  jet, 

The  goldfinches  charm  all  the  air 
With  sweet,  sad  crying  everywhere. 

To  the  dry  sunflower  stalks  they  cling, 
And  on  the  ripened  disks  they  swing; 
With  delicate  delight  they  feed 
On  the  rich  store  of  milky  seed. 

Autumn  goes  loitering  through  the  land, 
A torch  of  fire  within  her  hand. 

Soft  sleeps  the  bloomy  haze  that  broods 
O’er  distant  hills  and  mellowing  woods; 


MY  HOLLYHOCK 


249 


Rustle  the  cornfields  far  and  near, 

And  nuts  are  ripe,  and  pastures  sere, 

And  lovely  odors  haunt  the  breeze, 

Borne  o’er  the  sea  and  through  the  trees. 
Belated  beauty,  lingering  still 
So  near  the  edge  of  winter’s  chill, 

The  deadly  daggers  of  the  cold 
Approach  thee,  and  the  year  grows  old. 
Is  it  because  I love  thee  so 
Thou  waitest,  waving  to  and  fro 
Thy  flowery  spike,  to  gladden  me, 
Against  the  background  of  blue  sea  ? 

I wonder  — hast  thou  not  some  sense, 
Some  measure  of  intelligence 
Responding  to  my  joy  in  thee? 

Almost  I dream  that  it  may  be, 

Such  subtleties  are  Nature’s,  hid 
Her  most  well-trodden  paths  amid; 

Such  sympathies  along  her  nerves; 

Such  sweetness  in  her  fine  reserves. 
Howe’er  it  be,  I thank  the  powers 
That  gave  me  such  enchanted  hours 
This  late  October,  watching  thee 
Wave  thy  bright  flowers  against  the  sea. 


250 


BENEDICTION 


BENEDICTION 

“Oh  heaven  bless  you,  heaven  keep  you,  sweet l" 

It  was  God’s  hand  that  dropped  the  healing  balm 
Upon  her  head,  and  clothed  in  prayerful  calm 
Her  soul  as  saints  are  robed  from  head  to  feet. 

Gone  is  the  beautiful  beloved  voice 

That  spake  that  blessing  in  the  vanished  years; 

Yet  in  her  grateful  memory  still  she  hears 
The  tender  tones  that  made  her  heart  rejoice. 

And  ever  will,  while  memory  keeps  her  seat; 

And  though  she  dwelt  among  the  nameless  dead, 
Her  dust  would  thrill  beneath  the  voice  that  said, 
“May  heaven  bless  you,  heaven  keep  you,  sweet!  ” 


SONNET 

If  I do  speak  your  praise,  forgive  me,  Sweet! 

Since  love  demands  expression,  let  me  say 
How  joyfully  my  heart  goes  out  to  greet 

Your  grace  and  charm  with  every  changing  day: 
How  sweet  your  morning  kiss,  how  dear  your  smile, 
And  tender  touch,  and  voice  that ’s  low  and  clear, 


ON  THE  TRAIN 


251 


And  with  what  deep  content  I yield  the  while 
You  draw  me  to  you,  near  and  yet  more  near, 
And  show  me  what  pure  depths  within  you  lie,  — 
The  powers  of  good,  the  gentle  steadfastness, 
The  quiet  wisdom  and  the  purpose  high, 

So  strong  to  love,  to  lift,  to  cheer  and  bless; 
While  like  a robe  of  loveliness  you  wear 
Your  flower-like  radiance  delicately  fair. 


ON  THE  TRAIN 

Through  the  storm,  through  the  wind  and  the  rain 
Rushes  the  clattering  train; 

Past  the  hills,  across  valley  and  plain, 

Through  city  and  hamlet  again, 

With  a rumble  and  roar  we  speed  on 
Till  the  half  of  our  journey  is  done. 

Close  wrapped  in  my  corner  I dream, 

Watching  the  raindrops  stream 
O'er  the  misty  pane,  and  the  gleam 
Of  the  white  of  the  steam, 

As  they  hurry  past  and  are  lost, 

On  the  wings  of  the  tempest  tossed. 

Through  the  smoke  and  the  din  and  the  blur 
East,  fast  I am  flying  to  her ! 


252 


ON  THE  TRAIN 


All  the  thunder,  the  rattle  and  whir, 

The  noisy  discomfort,  the  stir, 

Are  nothing  to  me,  for  my  sense 
Is  lost  in  a rapture  intense. 

And  like  golden  bees  through  the  storm 
Sweet  memories  cluster  and  swarm; 

Sweet  thoughts  round  a maidenly  form 
That  I see  by  the  firelight  warm,  — 
Bright  eyes  that  are  watching  the  clock, 
Little  ears  that  are  waiting  my  knock; 

And  I know  how  the  color  will  rush 
In  that  beautiful  mantling  blush 
To  her  cheek,  till  its  delicate  flush 
Shall  rival  the  rose,  as  I hush 
With  a word  her  heart’s  tumult  divine 
And  she  lays  her  white  hand  within  mine. 

Then  thunder,  thou  clattering  train, 

And  roar  through  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
Past  the  hills,  across  valley  and  plain 
Devour  the  long  leagues ! — till  again 
In  the  light  of  my  love’s  happy  eyes 
The  sun  of  my  life  shall  arise. 


PEACE 


253 


PEACE 

Calm  of  the  autumn  night, 

With  the  glow  of  a primrose  sky 

Drowned  in  a sea  of  golden  light 
From  the  harvest  moon  on  high! 

Against  the  rose  of  the  sky 
Winging  their  silent  way, 

Darkly  the  gulls  go  floating  by 
In  the  glow  of  the  dying  day. 

Infinite  peace  and  calm 

In  the  breast  of  the  ocean  wide, 

In  the  air  like  delicate  balm, 

In  the  faint,  sweep  lapse  of  the  tide. 

With  the  cricket’s  pensive  sound, 

With  the  breath  of  the  late,  last  rose, 

► 

Comes  a sense  of  joy  profound, 

And  a bliss  of  deep  repose. 

What  is  thy  mystic  charm, 

0 beautiful  autumn  night! 

Not  the  sigh  of  the  south  wind  warm, 
Not  thy  harvest  moon’s  pure  light; 


254 


AS  LINNETS  SING 


Not  the  calm  of  the  glassy  sea, 
Reflecting  thy  stars  above ; 

Nor  thy  perfumes  borne  to  me 
On  the  balmy  air  I love: 

But  the  soul  of  all  thou  art 
Calls  to  the  soul  in  me, 

And  speaks  to  my  quiet  heart 
With  the  voice  of  sky  and  sea. 


AS  LINNETS  SING 

Nay,  wherefore  should  I seek  thy  patient  ear 
To  weary  thee  with  words  that  naught  avail ! 
This  faltering  voice  will  not  ring  true  and  clear, 
It  will  hut  break  and  fail. 

And  yet  I cannot  keep  back  any  part 

Of  my  delight;  fain  would  I give  thee  all 
The  music  that  thou  makest  in  my  heart, 

As  David  sang  to  Saul. 

Would  bring  thee  garlands  sweet  and  manifold, 
Meek  violets  full  of  fragrance,  - — roses,  too, 
Dark  pansies  richly  streaked  with  burning  gold, 
And  lilies  bright  with  dew. 


RUTH 


255 


But  ah,  they  grow  so  pallid  ’neath  my  hand  I 
So  scentless  and  so  colorless  and  frail  — 

The  music  cannot  reach  where  thou  dost  stand, 

It  will  hut  break  and  fail. 

Still  at  their  source  the  notes  are  true  and  strong, 
And  as  some  linnet  sings,  whose  happy  breast, 
Filled  with  the  summer’s  rapture,  thrills  with  song 
That  will  not  be  suppressed, 

Until  she  cannot  choose  but  strive  to  blend 
Her  slender  silver  thread  of  wavering  sound 
With  all  the  nobler  voices  that  ascend, 

Though  lost  it  be  and  drowned,  — 

So  sing  I to  the  sun  that  fills  my  sky 

With  warmth  and  light  and  health.  So  I to  thee 
Send  up  my  broken  music  ceaselessly, 

Silent  I cannot  be. 

RUTH 

A baby  girl  not  two  years  old 

Among  the  phlox  and  pansies  stands, 

And  full  of  flowers  as  they  can  hold 
Her  mother  fills  her  little  hands, 

And  bids  her  cross  to  where  I stay 
Within  my  garden’s  fragrant  space, 


256 


KUTH 


And  guides  her  past  the  poppies  gay 
’Mid  mazes  of  the  blooming  place, 

Saying,  “ Go  carry  Thea  these  ! ” 
Delighted,  forth  the  baby  fares, 

Between  the  fluttering-winged  sweet  peas 
Her  treasured  buds  she  safely  bears. 

?T  is  but  a step,  but  oh,  what  stress 
Of  care  ! What  difficulties  wait ! 

How  many  pretty  dangers  press  - 
Upon  the  path  from  gate  to  gate ! 

But  high  above  her  sunny  head 
She  tries  the  roses  sweet  to  hold, 

Now  caught  in  coreopsis  red, 

Half  wrecked  upon  a marigold, 

Or  tangled  in  a cornflower  tall, 

Or  hindered  by  the  poppy-tops,  — 

She  struggles  on,  nor  does  she  fall, 

Nor  stalk  nor  stem  her  progress  stops, 

Until  at  last,  the  trials  past, 

Victorious  o’er  the  path’s  alarms, 

Herself,  her  flowers  and  all  are  cast 
Breathless  into  my  happy  arms. 


PETITION 


257 


My  smiling,  rosy  little  maid  ! 

And  while  her  joy-flushed  cheek  I kiss, 
And  close  to  mine  its  bloom  is  laid, 

I think,  “ So  may  you  find  your  bliss, 

u My  precious  ! When  in  coming  years 
Life’s  path  grows  a bewildering  maze, 
So  may  you  conquer  doubts  and  fears 
And  safely  thread  its  devious  ways, 

“ And  find  yourself,  all  dangers  past, 

Clasped  to  a fonder  breast  than  mine, 
And  gain  your  heavenly  joy  at  last 
Safe  in  the  arms  of  Love  Divine.” 


PETITION 

My  little  grandson  three  years  old 
Sleeps  by  my  bedside  nightly, 

Through  the  long  hours  of  dark  and  cold, 
Dreaming  he  slumbers  lightly. 

He  feels  my  love  around  him  fold, 

And  in  its  heart  reposes, 

Upon  his  hair  a gleam  of  gold, 

His  cheeks  like  damask  roses. 


258 


APPEAL 


All  through  the  chill  and  silent  night 
I stretch  a hand  caressing, 

To  draw  the  blanket,  warm  and  light, 
About  him,  with  a blessing. 

In  sleep  he  knows  that  touch  so  sweet, 
So  lingering  and  tender, 

Turns  his  dear  face  my  palm  to  meet, 
With  soft  and  glad  surrender. 

0 God  of  pity  and  of  love, 

Have  patience  with  our  blindness, 
Thy  hand  is  stretched  our  heads  above 
Warm  with  Thy  watchful  kindness. 

Give  us  this  baby’s  perfect  faith ! 

Whatever  ills  assail  us, 

Help  us  to  feel,  in  life  or  death, 

That  Thou  wilt  never  fail  us. 


APPEAL 

The  childish  voice  rose  to  my  ear 
Sweet  toned  and  eager,  praying  me, 
u I am  so  little,  Granna  dear, 

Please  lift  me  up,  so  I can  see.” 


APPEAL 


259 


I looked  down  at  the  pleading  face, 

Felt  the  small  hand’s  entreating  touch, 
And  stooping  caught  in  swift  embrace 
The  baby  boy  I loved  so  much, 

And  held  him  high  that  he  might  gaze 
At  the  great  pageant  of  the  sky, 

The  glory  of  the  sunset’s  blaze, 

The  glittering  moon  that  curved  on  high. 

With  speechless  love  I clasped  him  close 
And  read  their  beauty  in  his  eyes, 

And  on  his  fair  cheek  kissed  the  rose, 
Sweeter  than  blooms  of  Paradise. 

And  in  my  heart  his  eager  prayer 
Found  echo,  and  the  self-same  cry 
Pose  from  my  heart  through  heaven’s  air, 

“ 0 gracious  Father,  lift  me  high  ! 

“ So  little  and  so  low  am  I, 

Among  earth’s  mists  I call  to  Thee, 

Show  me  the  glory  of  Thy  sky  ! 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


All’s  Well  . 

Alone  . 

Already  . 

Answer,  The 
Appeal  . 

April  Days  . 

As  Linnets  Sing 
At  Dawn 
At  Set  of  Moon 
At  the  Breakers’  Edge 
August  . 

Autumn 
Autumn,  In 


PAGE 

86 

153 

170 

226 

258 

53 

254 

235 

204 

61 

228 

158 

196 


Because  of  Thee 185 

Beethoven 70,  139 

Before  Sunrise 34 

Beloved 225 

Benediction 250 

Betrothed 240 

Broken  Lily,  A . 83 

By  the  Dead 78 

By  the  Roadside  .........  37 

Captured 232 

Chopin 74 

Christmas,  For 203 

Compensation 222 

Contrast 99 


262 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Courage  .... 

. 

41 

Cruise  of  the  Mystery,  The 

. 177 

Daybreak  .... 

109 

Discontent  .... 

. 168 

Doubt 

175 

Enthralled  .... 

. 143 

Expectation 

4 

Expostulation  .... 

. 187 

Faded  Glove,  A . 

100 

Faith 

. 234 

Farewell  . 

174 

Flowers  for  the  Brave 

. 186 

Flowers  in  October 

114 

Footprints  in  the  Sand 

. 80 

For  Christmas 

203 

“ For  Thoughts  ” 

. 63 

Foreboding  .... 

166 

Garden,  My  .... 

. 205 

Good-By,  Sweet  Day  . 

195 

Grateful  Heart,  A . 

. 22 

Guendolen  .... 

66 

Guests 

. 171 

Happy  Birds,  The 

130 

Heartbreak  Hill 

. 54 

Heart’s-Ease 

156 

Her  Mirror  .... 

. 202 

Hjelma  .... 

245 

Hollyhock  My 

. 247 

Homage  .... 

167 

Impatience  .... 

. 199 

Imprisoned  .... 

48 

In  a Horse-Car 

In  Autumn  .... 

• 

. 

196 

. INDEX  OF  TITLES 


263 


In  Death’s  Despite 217 

In  Kittery  Churchyard 59 

In  May 27 

In  September 210 

In  the  Lane 200 

In  Tuscany 193 

Joy 224 

Karen 117 

Kittery  Churchyard,  In 59 

Land-locked 1 

Lars 124 

Leviathan . 148 

Lost  and  Saved 208 

“ Love  shall  save  us  all  ” 177 

March 93 

May,  In 27 

May  Morning 84 

Medrick  and  Osprey 152 

Midsummer 231 

Midsummer  Midnight 51 

Minute-Guns,  The 12 

Modjeska 122 

Morning  Song 138 

Mozart 72 

Mussel  Shell,  A 119 

Mutation 173 

My  Garden 205 

My  Hollyhock 247 

Nestling  Swallows,  The 112 

New  Year  Song  . . 232 

November 41 

November  Morning 214 

Off  Shore 2 


264 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


“ Oh  tell  me  not  of  Heavenly  Halls  ” 230 

On  the  Train 251 

Opr  Soldiers 219 

Peace 253 

Persistence 188 

Petition  257 

Philosophy 150 

Pimpernel,  The 75 

Poor  Lisette 190 

Portent 103 

Presage 50 

Questions 242 

Regret 32 

Remembrance 43 

Remonstrance 135 

Renunciation  .........  106 

Reverie 154 

Rock  Weeds 15 

Rose  of  Joy,  A 209 

Ruth 255 

Sandpiper,  The 18 

Schubert 73 

Schumann’s  Sonata  in  A Minor 184 

S.E 190 

Seaside  Goldenrod 92 

Seaward .14 

Secret,  The 90 

September,  In 210 

Slumber  Song 132 

Song  (by  Oscar  Laighton) 95 

Songs : — 

“ A bird  upon  a rosy  bough  ” 229 

il  Above  in  her  chamber  her  voice  I hear  ” . . 165 

“ A rushing  of  wings  in  the  dawn  ” . . . . 127 

“ Hark,  how  sweet  the  thrushes  sing  ” . . . . 135 


INDEX  OF  TITLES  265 

u I wore  your  rose9  yesterday  ” 162 

u Love,  art  thou  weary  with  the  sultry  day  ? ” . . 159 

“ Oh  the  fragrance  of  the  air  ” 107 

“0  Love,  Love,  Love!” Ill 

“ O swallow,  sailing  lightly  ” 123 

“ Past  the  point  and  by  the  beach  ” 227 

“ Rolls  the  long  breaker  in  splendor,  and  glances  ” . 145 

u We  sail  toward  evening’s  lonely  star  ” ...  44 

“ Sing,  little  bird,  oh  sing  ” 105 

u What  good  gift  can  I bring  thee,  0 thou  dearest  ” . 139 

Sonnets : — 

“ As  happy  dwellers  by  the  seaside  hear  ” . . . 165 
“ Back  from  life’s  coasts  the  ebbing  tide  had  drawn  ” 224 

u If  I do  speak  your  praise,  forgive  me,  Sweet ! ” . 250 

11  Not  so ! You  stand  as  long  ago  a king  ” . . . 108 

Song-Sparrow,  The 57 

Song  of  Hope,  A 218 

Sorrow 39 

Spaniards’  Graves,  The 24 

Spring  Again 162 

Starlight 132 

Submission 160 

Summer  Day,  A 29 

“ Sunrise  never  failed  us  yet,  The  ” 142 

Sunset  Song 176 

Swallow,  The 20 

Thanksgiving,  A 11 

Thora 128 

To  a Violin 149 

To  J.  G.  W 192 

Transition 146 

Trust 120 

Tryst,  A 45 

Tuscany,  In 193 

Twilight 19 

Two 220 

Two  Sonnets  . 108 

Tyre  and  Sidon 244 


266  INDEX  OF  TITLES 

Under  the  Eaves 212 

Valentine,  A 238 

Vesper  Song 114 

Violin,  To  a • . . . 149 

Wait  ...... 116 

Watch  of  Boon  Island,  The 67 

Watching 25 

West-Wind 197 

Wherefore 64 

White  Rover,  The 95 

With  the  Tide 140 

Within  and  Without 239 

Wreck  of  the  Pocahontas,  The  .....  6 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


A baby  girl  not  two  years  old,  255. 

A bird  upon  a rosy  bough,  229. 

About  your  window’s  happy  height,  173. 

Above  in  her  chamber  her  voice  I hear,  165. 

A clash  of  human  tongues  within,  146. 

Across  the  narrow  beach  we  flit,  18. 

Ah  me,  my  scarlet  hollyhock,  247. 

All  about  the  gable  tall  swift  the  swallows  flit,  130. 
Already  the  dandelions,  170. 

And  was  it  thus  the  master  looked,  think  you,  71. 

A pansy  on  his  breast  she  laid,  63. 

Are  the  roses  fallen,  dear  my  child,  1 16. 

A rushing  of  wings  in  the  dawn,  127. 

As  happy  dwellers  by  the  seaside  hear,  165. 

As  when  one  wears  a fragrant  rose,  209. 

A strong  sweet  tide  toward  the  lonely  shore,  225. 

At  daybreak  in  the  fresh  light,  joyfully,  29. 

At  her  low  quaint  wheel  she  sits  to  spin,  117. 

At  the  open  window  I lean,  73. 

Back  from  life’s  coasts  the  ebbing  tide  had  drawn,  224. 
Because  I hold  it  sinful  to  despond,  41. 

Be  thou  ashamed,  0 Sidon,  saith  the  sea,  244. 

Betwixt  the  bleak  rock  and  the  barren  shore,  148. 

Black  lie  the  hills ; swiftly  doth  daylight  flee,  1. 

Black  sea,  black  sky ! A ponderous  steamship  driving,  64. 
Buttercup  nodded  and  said  good-by,  228. 

By  cottage  walls  the  lilacs  blow,  200. 


268 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


Calm  is  the  close  of  the  day,  74. 

Calm  of  the  autumn  night,  253. 

Come  out  and  hear  the  birds  sing ! Oh,  wherefore  sit  you  there, 
135. 

Come  under  my  cloak,  my  darling,  128. 

Cricket,  why  wilt  thou  crush  me  with  thy  cry,  166. 

Crushing  the  scarlet  strawberries  in  the  grass,  59. 

Deft  hands  called  Chopin’s  music  from  the  keys,  122. 

Down  San  Miniato  in  the  afternoon,  193. 

Dropped  the  warm  rain  from  the  brooding  sky,  37. 

Early  this  morning  waking,  235. 

Fain  would  I hold  my  lamp  of  life  aloft,  234. 

Far  off  against  the  solemn  sky,  176. 

Fragrant  and  soft  the  summer  wind  doth  blow,  43. 

From  out  the  desolation  of  the  North,  45. 

Good-by,  sweet  day,  good-by,  195. 

Graceful,  tossing  plume  of  glowing  gold,  92. 

Hark,  how  sweet  the  thrushes  sing,  135. 

Here  bring  your  purple  and  gold,  186. 

High  on  the  ledge  the  wind  blows  the  bay  berry  bright,  11. 

How  long  it  seems  since  that  mild  April  night,  14. 

I lit  the  lamps  in  the  lighthouse  tower,  6. 

I stood  on  the  height  in  the  stillness,  162. 

I stood  within  the  little  cove,  12. 

I wondered  what  power  possessed  the  place,  236. 

I wore  your  roses  yesterday,  162. 

If  God  speaks  anywhere,  in  any  voice,  139. 

If  I do  speak  your  praise,  forgive  me,  sweet,  250. 

If,  some  day,  I should  seek  those  eyes,  50. 

In  childhood’s  season  fair,  25. 

In  Ipswich  town,  not  far  from  the  sea,  54. 

In  that  new  world  toward  which  our  feet  are  set,  222. 

In  the  morning  twilight,  while  the  household  yet,  109. 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


269 


In  this  sweet,  tranquil  afternoon  of  spring,  57. 

It  blossomed  by  the  summer  sea,  205. 

Joy  breathes  in  the  sweet  airs  of  spring,  224. 

Last  night  I stole  away  alone,  to  find,  22. 

Lazily,  through  the  warm  gray  afternoon,  80. 

Leaping  from  the  boat,  through  the  lazy  sparkling  surf,  210. 

Lies  the  sunset  splendor  far  and  wide,  114. 

Lightly  she  lifts  the  large,  pure  luminous  shell,  48. 

Like  huge  waves,  petrified,  against  the  sky,  143. 

Like  scattered  flowers  blown  all  about  the  bay,  106. 

Love,  art  thou  weary  with  the  sultry  day,  159. 

Medrick,  waving  wide  wings  low  over  the  breeze-rippled  bight, 
152. 

Most  beautiful  among  the  helpers  thou,  72. 

My  life  has  grown  so  dear  to  me,  185. 

My  little  granddaughter,  who  fain  would  know,  100. 

My  little  grandson,  three  years  old,  257. 

Nanette ! 232. 

Nay,  comrade,  ’t  is  a weary  path  we  tread,  167. 

Nay,  wherefore  should  I seek  thy  patient  ear,  254. 

Not  so  ! You  stand  as  long  ago  a king,  108. 

O Lily,  dropped  upon  the  gray  sea-sand,  83. 

O Love,  he  whispered  low,  Eternal  Love,  208. 

O Love,  Love,  Love,  111. 

O mirror,  whence  her  lovely  face,  202. 

O Pilgrim,  comes  the  night  so  fast,  177. 

O Poverty ! till  now  I never  knew,  78. 

O sailors,  did  sweet  eyes  look  after  you,  24. 

O Sorrow,  go  thy  way  and  leave  me,  232. 

O sovereign  Master ! stem  and  splendid  power,  70. 

O stateliest ! who  shall  speak  thy  praise,  who  find,  71. 

O swallow,  sailing  lightly,  123. 

Oh  heaven  bless  you,  heaven  keep  you,  sweet,  250. 

Oh  tell  me  not  of  heavenly  halls,  230. 


270 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


Oh  the  fragrance  of  the  air,  107. 

Oh  the  sweet,  sweet  lapsing  of  the  tide,  53. 

Oh  what  saw  you,  gathering  flowers  so  early  this  May  morn,  90. 
Only  to  follow  you,  dearest,  only  to  find  you,  199. 

Past  the  point  and  by  the  beach,  227. 

Peace  smiles  over  hamlet  and  city,  219. 

Pleasant  above  the  city’s  din,  212. 

Rock,  little  boat,  beneath  the  quiet  sky,  2. 

Rolls  the  long  breaker  in  splendor,  and  glances,  145. 

Round  and  round  the  garden  rushed  a sudden  blast,  158. 

Sadly  the  quails  in  the  cornland  pipe,  190. 

See  how  the  wind  is  hauling  point  by  point  to  the  south,  120. 
September’s  slender  crescent  grows  again,  19. 

She  is  so  fair,  I thought,  so  dear  and  fair,  66. 

She  passes  up  and  down  life’s  various  ways,  190. 

She  turned  the  letter’s  rustling  page  ; her  smile,  220. 

She  walks  beside  the  silent  shore,  75. 

Sing,  little  bird,  oh  sing,  105. 

Skeleton  schooner,  looming  strange  on  the  far  horizon’s  rim,  188. 
So  bleak  these  shores,  wind-swept  and  all  the  year,  15. 

So  soon  the  end  must  come,  150. 

Softly  Death  touched  her,  and  she  passed  away,  32. 

Softly  the  flickering  firelight  comes  and  goes,  240. 

Southward  still  the  sun  is  slanting  day  by  day,  156. 

Stands  Hjelma  at  her  lady’s  chair,  245. 

Sunflower  tall  and  hollyhock,  that  wave  in  the  wind  together,  171. 
Swift  o’er  the  water  my  light  yacht  dances,  140. 

Tears  in  those  eyes  of  blue,  187. 

Tell  us  a story  of  these  isles,  they  said,  124. 

That  was  a curlew  calling  overhead,  27. 

The  aster  by  the  brook  is  dead,  196. 

The  barley  bows  from  the  west,  197. 

The  blossoms  blush  on  the  bough,  226. 

The  childish  voice  rose  to  my  ear,  258. 

The  children  wandered  up  and  down,  177. 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


271 


The  chill,  sad  evening  wind  of  winter  blows,  132. 

The  clover  blossoms  kiss  her  feet,  95. 

The  crimson  sunset  faded  into  gray,  174. 

The  day  is  bitter.  Through  the  hollow  sky,  99. 

The  keen  north  wind  pipes  loud,  93. 

The  lilies  clustered  fair  and  tall,  153. 

The  long  black  ledges  are  white  with  gulls,  114. 

The  morning  breaks,  the  storm  is  past.  1 ehold,  218. 

The  quiet  room,  the  flowers,  the  perfumed  calm,  184. 

The  sparrow  sits  and  sings,  and  sings,  160. 

The  steadfast  planet  spins  through  space,  242. 

The  summer  day  was  spoiled  with  fitful  storm,  112. 

The  swallow  twitters  about  the  eaves,  20. 

The  tide  flows  up,  the  tide  flows  down,  239. 

The  white  reflection  of  the  sloop’s  great  sail,  154. 

The  wide,  still,  moonlit  water  miles  away,  51. 

The  wild  rose  blooms  for  the  sun  of  June,  175. 

The  wind  blows  from  the  stormy  quarter  and  the  moon  is  old,  204. 
There  is  no  day  so  dark,  168. 

There  is  no  wind  at  all  to-night,  41. 

They  called  the  little  schooner  the  White  Rover,  95. 

They  crossed  the  lonely  and  lamenting  sea,  67. 

This  grassy  gorge,  as  daylight  failed  last  night,  34. 

Thou  little  child,  with  tender,  clinging  arms,  132. 

Through  the  storm,  through  the  wind  and  the  rain,  251. 

Through  the  wide  sky  thy  north  wind’s  thunder  roars,  61. 
Throughout  the  lonely  house  the  whole  day  long,  4. 

Thy  own  wish  wish  I thee  in  every  place,  203. 

Upon  my  lips  she  laid  her  touch  divine,  39. 

Upon  the  sadness  of  the  sea,  142. 

Warm,  wild,  rainy  wind,  blowing  fitfully,  84. 

We  launch  our  boat  upon  the  sparkling  sea,  138. 

We  sail  toward  evening’s  lonely  star,  44. 

What  dost  thou  here,  young  wife,  by  the  water-side,  86. 

What  good  gift  can  I bring  thee,  O thou  dearest,  139. 

What  is  the  whole  world  worth,  Dear,  238. 

What  is  there  left,  I wonder,  192. 


272 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


What  wondrous  power  from  heaven  upon  thee  wrought,  149. 
When  the  darkness  drew  away  at  the  dawning  of  the  day,  103. 
White  as  a blossom  is  the  kerchief  quaint,  231. 

Whither  departs  the  perfume  of  the  rose,  217. 

Why  art  thou  colored  like  the  evening  sky,  119. 

With  clamor  the  wild  southwester,  214. 


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